


Pater Noster

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blackmail, Blasphemy, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Catholic Guilt, Catholic School, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Groping, Illegitimacy, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Priest Jon, Priest Kink, Roman Catholicism, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Thornbirds Inspiration, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10381104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: Father Jon Snow is a parish priest who never knew his earthly father.  Raised in the Church by his devout, single mother, Jon has tried for years to be a good Catholic, even though he has experienced doubts about his decision to enter the priesthood.  Devoting his life to God has not been easy, but when Sansa Stark, the new Latin teacher at the Catholic school attached to his parish, makes an unexpected confession in his office one morning, Jon seriously begins to doubt whether he can remain a man of the cloth for much longer.  And when a handsome stranger comes to town with revelations about his birth father, Jon's world is completely turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts), [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts).



> This story was written for my best friend and beta, vivilove, who understands my serious fetish for Father Ralph de Bricassart. I'm also dedicating this work to Janina, whose own works have inspired me to publicly explore my priest kink. Love to both of you ladies!
> 
> This story involves a myriad references to the Catholic Church post-Vatican II. I'm not in any way attacking Catholicism through this fanfiction. I'm just using the Church as a backdrop for exploring one man's spiritual and emotional journey as he begins to question not only the decisions he has made but the entire framework of his faith. If you're offended by the idea of a priest breaking his vows, then I suggest that you stop here and find another story to read.
> 
> Seriously? You're still here? Well, I suppose you've read the tags and heeded the warnings then. So, sit back and channel your inner priest kink as we begin our slow burn while travelling down the highway to hell! 
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While momentarily lost in his thoughts while preparing for Wednesday morning confessions and Mass, Father Jon has a unexpected yet most welcome visitor. The true reason for Sansa's visit, however, rocks him to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned...

__

  _There are no ambitions noble enough to justify breaking someone’s heart._

          - Colleen McCullough, _The Thornbirds_

 

_“Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.”_

_“That’ll do, Jon,” Father Davos smiled, motioning for the young man to return to his seat, “I must say, the good sister here was right.  Your ability to memorize so quickly is truly phenomenal, and your Latin pronunciation is impeccable.  Good work!”_

_“Thank you, Father Davos,” Jon beamed, his heart swelling with pride that his countless hours spent studying both after school and on weekends was being noticed by his teacher and now the parish priest as well.  As he sat down at his desk, Jon’s moment of glory was short-lived, however._

_“Teacher’s pet,” Jon overheard some of his classmates whispering behind his back, “What a suck up!  He’s uppity for a bastard, isn’t he?  Maybe we should call him ‘Monsignor Snow’ now!”_

_Refusing to turn around and let them win, Jon gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes cast forward as Father Davos bid adieu to the religious sister in charge and left the classroom to return to the rectory.  Sister Mary Melisandre curtsied as the priest exited and returned her attention once again to the Latin education of the boys’ 6 th grade class at Our Lady of the Wall Catholic School._

_“Thank you, Jon, for reciting the first part of the Pater Noster.  Now, class, we will finish our review of this prayer before we begin memorizing the Salve Regina.  Please open your Latin textbooks to page 69.”_

_Later that afternoon as Jon stood in front of his locker, shoving a stack of textbooks into his backpack to bring home to study while he reheated dinner and waited for his single mom to get home from the clinic, he felt an enormous hand lightly grip his shoulder._

_“Jon, do you have a moment before you head home?  I’d like to speak to you in my office,” Father Davos asked as he smiled down into Jon’s face._

_“Sure, Father,” Jon replied, clearing his throat as a sudden fear that he had done something wrong today at school washed over him.  Zipping his backpack, he shut his locker and proceeded to follow Father Davos down the long corridor, rounding the corner and exiting the main building as they briskly walked across campus toward the church office.  Finally summoning the courage to ask, Jon muttered, “Am I in trouble, Father Davos?”_

_Father Davos chuckled deeply, his deep laugh resonating in the cool, autumn air, “No, my boy, you’re far from in trouble.  I’d like to talk to you about your future.”_

_“My future?” Jon asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion._

_“Yes, your future,” Father Davos chuckled as they approached his office, “Have you ever considered entering the priesthood?”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

While staring unfocused out the large picture window of his office, watching the amber leaves falling from the giant, old elm tree where the groundskeeper was painstakingly planting orange and yellow mums around the shrine, Jon’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a light rapping on his wooden office door.  Startled by the unexpected noise, he jumped slightly in his brown leather swivel chair, accidentally scooting backward.  Glancing quickly at the wall clock sandwiched between the various images of his faith, he wondered who might already be looking for him at 7:28 AM on a Wednesday morning.

“Come in,” Jon called out, scooting himself back to his desk, grabbing a couple of loose papers beside his laptop to make it look like he was actually doing something useful with his time.

When he caught sight of the tall, svelte young woman with the waist-length, flaming red hair and the eyes the color of the summer sky entering his office, Jon immediately recited to himself, virtually at the speed of light, a prayer that his mother had made him learn when he hit puberty:

_Lord, inflame our hearts and our inmost beings with the fire of Your Holy Spirit, that we may serve You with chaste bodies and pure minds.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen._

“Good morning, Father Jon,” Sansa chirped cheerfully, nodding to him as she stepped inside his office, “I hope you don’t mind that I came by your office so early today.  I wanted to try to catch you before you left for confessions and morning Mass.”

Like a complete love-sick fool, Jon grinned widely as she demurely looked down toward her black ballet flats, worrying her plump pink bottom lip in that infernally alluring way that she did when she seemed nervous.  Although he knew he should reply immediately to her unspoken request to speak to him in private, Jon couldn’t help himself.  For the briefest of moments, he decided to indulge himself by drinking in the beauty that was Sansa Stark.

Today she was wearing a simple blue sweater set, the cerulean color bringing out the hue of her eyes so strongly it was almost too much to bear.  The pale, blue floral knee-length skirt hugged her curvaceous form just snugly enough to let a man know she was well-built but tastefully enough to let him know she wasn’t trying to brag.  Her copper curls were straightened this morning, left hanging loosely around her shoulders and flowing down her back save for a few tiny pieces pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of her neck.  Her miles of pale legs were covered in sheer hosiery, and the pearl necklace draped delicately around her long neck completed her proper, very lady-like ensemble.

Unfortunately for Jon, the things that he dreamed of doing to Sansa while hidden in the seclusion of his darkened bedroom were far from proper.

Blinking rapidly, Jon quickly tried to regain his self-control that was threatening to abandon him.  For the millionth time while in her presence, he internally chastised himself for the pathway his passions were headed.  Clearing his throat, laying the papers back on his desk and standing like a gentleman should in the presence of a lady, he finally found his voice and spoke.  “Of course, Sansa,” Jon said, trying his best to sound like a parish priest and not some randy bloke which he was, “You are welcome here anytime.  Remember, I’m here to serve you.”

Sansa smiled widely at his statement as her eyes raised to meet his.  “Would it be alright, Father Jon, if I spoke to you about a private matter?  If now is not a good time I can - ”

“No, no,” Jon interrupted, motioning for her to come have a seat in one of the plush tan visitor’s chairs opposite him on the other side of his enormous wooden executive desk, “By all means, please.  I have half an hour before confessions begin next door.  I’m all yours as always, milady.”

Watching how Sansa’s eyes widened for a brief second at his comment, Jon would have stood from his desk and kicked his own ass if he could have accomplished the feat without her seeing him do so.  _Jesus, Mary and Joseph…get your act together, man!_

As Sansa turned to close the door behind her, Jon felt a lump forming in the back of his throat.  He knew that he should not be meeting with her in private with the door closed.  Damn him all to hell, he wanted to, though.

Meeting with women behind closed doors was a rule of what _not_ to do when offering pastoral guidance that was so firmly engrained in his priestly training that he wanted to shout at Sansa to open the door immediately, that they should walk the short distance to the church and meet on the pews in the corner by the confessionals.  He should meet with her in a public place for propriety’s sake.  If they headed next door, at least the maintenance staff and some of the old ladies from the Altar Flower Guild would be setting up for today’s morning Mass at 9:00 AM.

“Uh, Sansa,” Jon sputtered, reaching up to lightly scratch his dark brown beard, “Since Mrs. Mordane isn’t here yet, you should really leave the door - ”

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa mumbled, her cheeks blushing profusely, “You’re right.”  She moved to reopen the door.

“But you know what, it’ll be alright,” he added, not quite sure why he suddenly decided to throw caution to the wind and do something to put himself in a very awkward position, “She will be here any minute.”  With that comment, Jon sat down at his desk while Sansa sat down in the plush visitor chair opposite him.  “So, Sansa, what brings you here this fine morning?”

For some reason, Sansa either couldn’t or wouldn’t look directly at him.  Her eyes were burning a hole into her lap at the moment, her hands nervously wringing the thin strap of her black purse.  “I came here because I need your advice.”

“Oh?” Jon stated curiously, slightly leaning back into his chair, “Well, how can I help?”

As Jon sat at his desk, waiting for Sansa to make the next move, he noticed how rapidly she was breathing at the moment.  The expression on her face looked like someone who was about to lay their neck across the chopping block.  And if he wasn’t mistaken, a few beads of sweat were beginning to materialize on her forehead.

“Sansa?” Jon asked, a puzzled look overtaking his face, “Are you alright?”

“I gave away my virginity, Father Jon,” Sansa hastily blurted out as she lifted her eyes to his, her voice wavering as tears began to gather in the corner of her crystal blue eyes, “I slept with Harry, but I don’t love him.  I love someone else.  I pretended it was the other man the entire time he was inside me…I…I’m so sorry.  I really shouldn’t be saying all of this to you.”  Apparently overcome with shame, Sansa hung her head in defeat at her revelation.

Jon’s deep brown eyes just about popped out of his head upon hearing that piece of information.  Even though he knew that she most likely had come to him this morning in desperate need of absolution, all Jon could think about right now was Sansa engaging in carnal pleasures with that irritating fop, Harry Hardyng, who treated her like a possession more than a girlfriend.

Having moved to the area right after Christmas as the second semester of school was about to commence, Sansa had quickly settled into life in her new parish.  Everyone in town immediately knew that this gorgeous young lady was a very obedient follower of the faith.  At 24 years of age, she was the new teacher in the Latin department of the Church’s junior high school where Jon had been a student years ago.  Sister Mary Melisandre was now Mother Superior Mary Melisandre, and after her many years of service as the head teacher of Classic Languages, she was now the acting headmistress of the entire school.  When thinking about his former Latin teacher, Jon often laughed to himself when he remembered how beautiful Sister Mary Melisandre had been as a young nun and how many wicked thoughts about her he and his buddies, Sam and Edd, had discussed at lunch back in the day.  This next generation of young lads at Our Lady of the Wall Catholic School faced an even greater temptation, now that they had an even more stunning beauty staring at them five days a week.

Since coming to Hardhome, Sansa had found her niche.  She volunteered on several church ministries, regularly participated in various activities and socials, and spent countless hours when not teaching at the school tutoring kids in the afternoons.  Jon had heard Sansa’s confessions.  They usually never amounted to more than her asking forgiveness for speaking a few curse words, feeling angry at the staff or students at school during the week, or wishing that she did not feel so jealous of her best friend, Margaery Tyrell, for both her beauty and her dynamic personality.

“I see,” Jon squeaked, unconsciously moving to tug slightly at his clerical collar.  He found himself wishing that either the sky would open up and God Himself would turn on the air conditioning or that He would open up the ground to swallow him whole.  The latter option would actually be preferred.  “Sansa, this sounds like a matter for your spiritual father, not your friend.  Perhaps we should move to the confessional booths to discuss what happened.”

 _There,_ Jon thought to himself, _That sounded all professional and mature, right?_

Sansa’s face fell.  Her shoulders slumped.  She looked like she was about to break.

“I didn’t come to make confession this morning,” Sansa murmured, her voice trembling now, “I came to talk to you about the other part of what I said.”

_The other part?  Hail Mary, full of grace…_

As he rapidly recited the prayer to himself, Jon felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.  He was on fire.  If Sansa thought that he could sit here as a friend, listening to her talk on any level of detail about her first sexual experience and how she was thinking about a _different_ man while engaging in the act, she was terribly mistaken.  He needed to wrench that door open _now_ and haul her straightaway into the church before his brain started travelling down an extremely dark pathway.  His mouth was dry, his palms were sweating, and damn him if he didn’t feel the beginnings of his arousal threatening to rear its head.

“Sansa, please listen to me,” Jon begged, losing his air of confidence, “I really think that we should go next door and - ”

“I think I should go, Father Jon,” Sansa whispered, standing suddenly and spinning on her heels, jerking the heavy wooden door open to make her escape, “I’m so sorry that I burdened you with my foolishness.”

Dashing out the door before Jon could even rise from his desk, Sansa disappeared from his office.  He could hear her feet pounding on the carpet as she made her escape.

“Wait!” he called out, “Sansa, please!  Stop!”  Leaping to his feet and rounding the corner of his desk, Jon bolted out his office door.  Following her path, he desperately wanted to catch her and to offer any words of his limited worldly wisdom that might ease her embarrassment.  Unfortunately, all that he saw when he exited his office was his secretary walking through the main door of the church office reporting in for duty.

“Good morning, Father Jon,” Mrs. Mordane said firmly, her thin lips pursed tightly together, “Sansa Stark almost ran right over me as I entered the building.  Is everything alright?”

Flustered at Mrs. Mordane’s nosiness, no matter how warranted it might be at the moment, Jon snapped at her instead of being patient, “Did she look fine to you, Mrs. Mordane?”  He brushed past his secretary, who was visibly stunned at his brisk answer, and continued outside the main door.  Standing all alone outside the office on the sidewalk that ran between the building and the parking lot, he quickly glanced around the church grounds.  He couldn’t tell which way Sansa had fled in her haste to escape his office.

 _Go after her, you idiot!_ Jon admonished himself, _Tell her that it’s OK and that everything will be fine.  Assure her that we all make mistakes and that all is not lost.  God knows you’ve made plenty of your own._

Jon glanced hurriedly at his watch.  Fifteen minutes until the church’s scheduled confession times before daily morning Mass.  Hanging his head in defeat, he sighed heavily, knowing that his duty called.  When he reentered the church office, Mrs. Mordane was sitting at her desk, already busing herself with the sundry tasks that befell the parish priest’s secretary on any given day.  She shot him a cold look of distaste, sending him the tacit message that she was most seriously displeased with his behavior this morning.

As he approached Mrs. Mordane’s work space, Jon ran his right hand through his chin-length brown curls as he wondered to himself where in the world Sansa had disappeared to so quickly.

“I’m sorry for being terse with you, Mrs. Mordane,” Jon spoke softly, opting to make an act of contrition to hopefully rectify the situation, “Please forgive me.”

With narrowed eyes, the old woman simply nodded at his apology, “Of course, Father Jon.”

“Mrs. Mordane,” Jon asked as he stopped just inside his doorway, turning around to face his secretary as she paused from booting her computer, “Hold my calls.  I need to prepare for confession time and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, of course.”

Shutting the door to his office, Jon let out a deep breath.  His brain was swimming with the idea that Sansa had not come to confess her transgression but that she was in love with someone that wasn’t Harry.  Like the whole parish, Jon had believed that Sansa and Harry were practically engaged.  Apparently, Jon had wrongly assumed that she adored the attractive, wealthy, young man.  The pair always sat together during Sunday Mass and during most social events held in the parish hall.  Harry was the son of an extremely well-to-do family from Arryntown, and he was the acting parish council treasurer when not working for his father at their software development company as the head of their sales department.

Based on their conversations during their time spent together as friends outside of the confessional as well as her time spent with him as her spiritual father, never once did Sansa tell Jon that she was not in love with Harry.  To be fair, though, she had never actually told Jon that she _did_ love Harry either.  Jon had always assumed it.  To hear her say she that she loved another man…God forgive him, that made him happy.

Now standing in front of his office window, Jon rebuked himself as he rubbed his bearded chin for how he had handled the situation with Sansa just moments earlier.  She had come to him as a friend in need, and what had he done?  He had acted like a lustful, horrible man when she entered his office, a sinful man who cared nothing for his flock and their salvation.  He had put his own base thoughts in the way of him doing his duty as her priest.

Jon quickly made the sign of the cross, bowing his head in disgust for his errant thoughts and his behavior toward Sansa.  As he silently recited three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers, he took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly.  Prayer had always brought him peace when he was angry, hurt, or heartbroken, even at those times when he found himself questioning his faith or his decision to enter the clergy.  As he once again made the sign of the cross at the completion of his act of penance, Jon gazed upon the massive crucifix on his office wall while he continued to reflect upon Sansa’s visit to him this morning and what he needed to do.

In an instant, Jon determined himself to visit Sansa at the school after morning Mass today.  He would do everything in his power as both her priest and as her friend to help her work through her emotional upheaval.  And damn him all to hell, he loved her and needed to know that she was alright.

Bowing his head toward the images hanging on his wall, Jon said out in the open what he had been telling himself for months now, “Thy will be done, Father.  I must see her.  Help me to be the man she needs me to be, not the man I want her to need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...are you still with me? Ready for more?
> 
> By the way, if you aren't jiggy with this storyline, please just move along without attempting to blast me, alright? Hateful comments won't see the light of day, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is full of regret. She is angry with herself that she didn't have the courage to tell Father Jon how she truly feels about him, and as she prepares for her school day to begin, she reflects upon her terrible decision to sleep with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sansa...

_“Really, Sansa, thank you for preparing dinner for me and for Father Sam,” Father Jon smiled as he stood inside the small kitchen of the rectory where he and his childhood friend, fellow priest, and associate pastor lived.  “It’s such a joy to eat a meal that doesn’t come out of the freezer or wasn’t cooked in the microwave.”_

_Throwing her head back at his description of how he and Father Sam dined, Sansa laughed loudly as she finished chopping the vegetables for their salad.  “With all the ladies of this parish inviting you into their families’ homes for a meal, I’m surprised that the two of you aren’t 300 pounds apiece.”_

_“Well, now that you mention it…” Father Sam joked, patting his ample belly as he momentarily ceased setting the table._

_“C’mon, Father Sam!” Sansa giggled, covering her mouth with her left hand at the young, heavy-set priest’s self-deprecating humor._

_“Actually, Father Jon is extremely fit,” Father Sam rambled while finishing his task, “He runs and works out all the time.  He’s incredibly well-built, but he always has been, now that I think about it.  Not that you’d ever know that under all the black -”_

_“That’s quite enough, Sam!” Father Jon huffed, shooting Sam a look that tacitly told his friend to zip it immediately.  Father Sam’s pale cheeks reddened as he realized his faux pas, the crimson hue visible even through his scruffy beard.  “Sansa is not interested in hearing about her priest’s exercise habits.”_

_“Maybe I am,” Sansa taunted, cocking a perfectly manicured ginger eyebrow in challenge as she tossed their garden salad, “Maybe I would like to know what my priest does when no one is watching him.”  She knew she shouldn’t go there.  She really shouldn’t._

_Father Jon’s head whipped around from chastising Father Sam to look at her, his deep brown eyes widening at her words.  Tilting his head as he studied her, Jon’s curious expression momentarily betrayed him as his eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a grin.  Sansa was quite certain that he had correctly deciphered the hidden meaning woven inside her statement._

_“A priest likes the same activities that any man does, Sansa,” Father Jon replied, his voice slightly lower than usual, as his tongue slowly slid along is bottom lip.  He was staring directly at her when he let that little double-entendre fly._

_Their eyes locked.  Sansa could feel her cheeks flush.  Her heart began to pound inside her chest.  She was certain that someone had just turned up the heater because damn her if she didn’t feel a trickle of sweat slowly descending down her spine just now._

_“That’s true,” Father Sam added, “I love to read when I’m alone.”_

_Hearing Father Sam’s innocent addition to the conversation, Sansa blinked rapidly as Father Jon cleared his throat.  They broke their mutual stare as they began to busy themselves with the tasks at hand to get dinner on the table._

_“So, Sansa,” Father Jon muttered as he poured water into the glasses on the table, obviously trying to change the subject, “When will Harry be joining us this evening?”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Hiding from the rest of the world as she desperately tried to pull herself together, Sansa sat alone inside her silver older model Honda Civic that was parked in an empty space in the teacher’s lot just west of the junior high school.  She was gripping the faux-leather steering wheel so hard her small knuckles were turning white.  After her attempt to talk to Father Jon went south rapidly, she had fled as fast as her feet would carry her.  As she had raced out the front door of the church office, Sansa heard Father Jon calling out for her to stop, but she couldn’t.  The last thing that she wanted to hear was him telling her that she was forgiven for doing something with Harry that she wanted to do so badly with him.

So, in her haste to escape, Sansa moved as fast as she could, not stopping until she had made it to the safety of her vehicle.  Swallowing another round of tears before they burst forth, she took a quick glance at her visage in the rear-view mirror, making sure that she practiced once more how she would explain to her fellow teachers why her eyes and face seemed so puffy this morning.  Finally letting go of the wheel, she took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and yanked her keys out of the ignition.  When she tossed them into her black handbag, Sansa began walking from the parking lot toward the school.

“Seasonal allergies,” Sansa rehearsed, whispering almost inaudibly to herself as she passed by several students milling around the steps outside the school, “I get them every year around this time of the season.  Don’t worry.  The meds will kick in soon, so I’ll be just fine.  No worries!”

 _You can do this,_ she kept telling herself as she smiled slightly and nodded at several other teachers scurrying about the hallways, _Just go in there and pretend like nothing happened…please, Lord, please let me make it through today…_

When Sansa finally had walked down the long corridor of the school in the east wing of the building and entered her deserted classroom, she flopped into her brown desk chair, tossing her purse onto the top of her small silver metal desk.  Catching a glimpse of the photo of her family perched on the corner by her name plate and inbox, she sighed heavily.  How disappointed in her parents would be if they knew how her heart pined for a man of the cloth.

Her mother and father were quite certain that when she had graduated from the University of Westeros at Winterfell with her Master’s Degree in Classical Languages last December and had taken this job at Our Lady of the Wall Catholic School that she would meet the perfect Catholic young man.  This particular long-standing parish was highly active, served as a funnel church for the surrounding wealthy, upper-middle class suburbanites, and possessed a top-rated academic program that would only serve to enhance Sansa’s resume.  Ned and Catelyn Stark, devout followers of the faith, had been praying for decades that this sort of opportunity would come their eldest daughter's way, and apparently, their prayers had been answered.

And then she moved to Hardhome.

Having attended an extremely liberal college on a full scholarship, Sansa had experienced a tremendous amount of differing opinions on what is and isn’t morally acceptable during her six years on campus.  However, Sansa refused to budge on her principals, even when taunted or questioned by her free-spirited roommate, Margaery.  She wanted to please her family, and most of all, she bought into the ideology that she had been spoon-fed since birth.

Six years of higher education and not one transgression.  Yet it only took six days of spending quality time with Father Jon to find herself slowly being sucked into the quagmire of her passions.

She could still remember the first time she caught sight of Father Jon Snow as he stood just outside the main entrance to the church while greeting parishioners before the first Sunday Mass she had attended after her move.  Rumors of the gorgeous young man who looked more like a movie star than a priest had spread like wildfire throughout the diocese when he had assumed command of his home parish once Father Davos retired last fall, right after Father Davos had interviewed her for her current position.  Although Winterfell was over an hour away, Father Jon’s appeal was something of legend within the young Catholic community.  Some of her female friends had already witnessed the glory that was Jon Snow with their own eyes, wondering aloud how God could allow a man who looked like _that_ to remain celibate.  After seeing him with her own blue eyes, Sansa agreed completely.

Over the last nine months, Sansa had spent most of her waking hours in Father Jon’s presence in some capacity, either through her teaching at the school, through her volunteer work at the church in the evenings and on weekends, and through her participation in the Young Adults Ministry.  Although they never had a chance to be totally alone unless she went to visit him during office hours, even then she could feel Mrs. Mordane’s x-ray vision burning through his office door each time she came to see him.  Sansa longed to be alone with him.  She wished that she could have dinner with him by himself.  How she wished that they could have any scrap of time alone together.  In her apartment, for example.  Or maybe her bedroom…

Smiling to herself just at the thought of Father Jon, her demeanor quickly changed as soon as she heard her cell phone buzz inside her purse.  Reaching in to pull it out, Sansa frowned when she saw that it was Harry asking her to meet her for lunch at the school today.

_Sansa:  I can’t.  Too busy today.  Sorry._

_Harry:  C’mon, Sansa.  You’ve been avoiding me all week.  I can come over after work?_

_Sansa:  No, I’m volunteering at the food pantry from 5-7.  Then I have papers to grade.  Next time._

_Harry:  And when is that going to be??_

Sansa smirked at the thought of typing “never.”  In all capacities, actually.

_Sansa:  Don’t know.  Have to go now.  Getting ready for classes.  Bye!_

Immediately switching off her cell phone, Sansa took a deep breath and stuffed it back into her purse.  She could absolutely kick herself in the ass for allowing that conceited, self-centered man into her life, let alone into her bed.  Harry had portrayed himself as the perfect gentleman in the early stages of their burgeoning relationship, and he seemed like just the kind of polite, pious young man that Sansa’s parents had envisioned that she would marry and breed with when she matured into a woman.

So, when Harry started sniffing around a few weeks into her tenure at the parish, Sansa went out on one date which led to two dates and then to three and then before she knew it, everyone in the parish assumed they were a couple.  For the first few months, Harry seemed like a sensitive, kind and thoughtful young man.  He showered her with flowers.  He brought her treats to school.  He volunteered at the church and regularly attended Mass.  On the surface, the young man truly seemed like the type of guy with whom Sansa should fall in love.

Yet slowly Sansa began to realize that it was all an act on his part.  Apparently, Harry thought that with Sansa’s beauty, bloodline and wealth, they were the perfect match.  So perfect, in fact, that without even asking her, he had assumed that they were destined to marry and to produce an enormous brood of tall blonde and redheaded children.  And because he held this erroneous assumption, Harry didn’t see any harm in suggesting one Friday night after he had taken her home from the movies that she might allow him to dip his wick in the well before any ring had actually arrived.

Knowing that Father Jon was off-limits, no matter how many little moments between them hinted otherwise, Sansa tried to love Harry, even if he could be arrogant and pushy at times.  And sadly, a part of her truly wished that somehow the idea of her being with another man might actually make Father Jon jealous.  How stupid can a young woman be?

But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t fall in love with Harry.  In fact, over the last few weeks, Sansa began to realize that she didn’t even really _like_ him.  She selfishly stayed with him because she was lonely.  Because she wasn’t able to be with the man whom she _really_ loved.  The man with those chin-length brown curls and dark beard who plagued her every waking thought since he had said hello and shook her hand nine months ago.

God forgive her, she had been weak when she allowed Harry to slither in between her legs.  Months of spending countless hours with Father Jon had finally brought her to her knees.  She thought about him constantly.  The way he smiled so wide when he laughed that small crinkles appeared around his eyes.  How thick and rich his husky voice sounded during Mass on Sundays.  She had fallen hard and fast for him, but because of his vocation, she knew that he was forbidden.

Although Sansa was mortified that she had slept with Harry after he had taken her home from bingo night at church last Saturday, she knew that she had given in not because of his constant nagging but to try one last time to forget about her intense desire for Father Jon.  Telling herself that she could learn to love Harry if she just allowed herself this one indulgence, Sansa finally acquiesced to his lust.

Damn her all to hell but having sex with Harry only made her longing for Father Jon even worse.

Feeling Harry thrusting inside her, grunting and moaning as he took his pleasure without once showing the least interest in her finding any of her own, Sansa closed her eyes, imagining it was Jon’s face lovingly smiling down at her, his cock dragging along her slick inner walls and bringing her to a climax that in reality didn’t come.  Thinking about Jon making love to her was the only way that she could make it through the painful act with Harry without breaking down in tears.  Thankfully, Harry didn’t feel the need to hang around and to bask in his afterglow once Sansa pretended that she wanted him to sleep over.  He actually had the audacity to tell her that they needed to be careful or someone in the parish might see his car in the parking lot overnight and rumors might spread that could ruin his (yes, he actually said _his_ ) image as an upstanding, virtuous young leader in the Church.

Laughing to herself at Harry’s hypocritical and antiquated notions, Sansa shook her head.  Glancing at the wall clock stuffed in between the images of her once strong faith, she smiled as her class of 6th graders began filing into the classroom, whispering and tittering among themselves as they found their seats to begin their school day.

She knew that she needed to talk to Father Jon.  But, how could she?  She had mucked up her attempt earlier.  Would it be any better if she tried again?  And what exactly did she expect him to say, come to think of it?  Could she really expect him to profess his undying love for her?  Did she have any reason to think that Father Jon would walk away from his vocation just because some woman he’d only known for nine months confessed that she was in love with him?

Maybe Sansa had been a fool all along.  Perhaps she had been misreading Father Jon’s body language or the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.  She had been so stupid to believe that he had feelings for her.  Father Jon was a lifelong Catholic, a devout priest, and a good man.  She was just a lustful young woman who had allowed herself to get wrapped up in a sinful fantasy.  That was all.  Nothing more.

As Sansa tapped her fingers on her desk, she was broken from her reverie at the sound of the buzzer signaling class time was set to begin.  Jumping slightly in her seat, she suddenly became acutely aware that her entire class was staring at her like she had miraculously sprouted feathers.

 _Get a grip,_ she told herself, _Time to get going.  Do it!_

“Good morning, everyone,” Sansa beamed, putting on her best teacher smile, faking how happy she wasn’t really feeling at the moment, “It’s so wonderful to see all of you this morning!”  Rising from her desk, she made her way to the front of the classroom where she stood next to the enormous white board.  Staring blankly at the vast expanse of emptiness, she decided on the spot to review a different prayer in Latin than she had previously planned for her introduction today.  She grabbed a red dry erase marker from the tray and scratched out the entire prayer from memory that her father had taught her ages ago when she was a little girl.

“Let’s go ahead and get started,” Sansa commanded, smiling at her handiwork, “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”  As she capped the marker, tossing in back to its previous location and turning to face her students, she placed her hands on her shapely hips and nodded her head toward the board, “So, let’s go ahead and begin our day by reviewing the Pater Noster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, Sansa! You got this - go talk to Father Jon already!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly after Mass, Father Jon heads over to the junior high to try to talk to Sansa, but he is stunned to find out that she has already left for the day. Instead of being patient, waiting for her to reach out to him again, Father Jon drives to Sansa's apartment. And when an extremely shocked Sansa opens the door, allowing Father Jon inside, their relationship takes a serious turn in a different direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon looses his resolve...will Sansa do the same?

_“Jon, where are you going?” Lyanna called out to her seventeen-year-old son as he stormed out of the living room of the two-bedroom apartment that they had shared for years.  They were fighting.  Again._

_“Anywhere but here!” Jon yelled, stomping down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming the door shut forcefully behind him._

_“Jon, let me in,” Lyanna begged from outside his bedroom door._

_“Go away, mum!” Jon shouted, throwing himself onto his twin bed beside the lone window of his room, “I’m through playing your game!”_

_“I’m not playing a game, son,” she pled, gingerly opening the door and stepping inside his room, “It’s just so painful for me to talk about your father - ”_

_“And you don’t think it’s been painful for me?” he demanded without looking at her, staring blankly at the ceiling as she approached him.  He folded his arms defiantly in front of his chest as she sat beside him on the edge of his bed.  “I’ve never pushed you to talk, mum.  I’ve waited and waited for you to finally tell me something…anything.  Yet, here I am, once again left in the dark with nothing but your smoke and mirrors when I do ask.  Don’t you think I have a right to know about my father?”  Finally turning his head towards her, Jon could see the anguish in her sad, tired eyes._

_Hanging her head in defeat, Lyanna apologized as her tears began to form, “I’m so sorry.  You’re right, Jon.  You deserve to know.  Forgive me.”_

_At that moment, Jon felt like a complete ass for treating his mother with such contempt._

_“No, please forgive me,” Jon whispered as he rose, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.  He put his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.  “I shouldn’t have yelled.”  While Jon held his mother, Lyanna broke down.  “I’m almost a man now, mum,” he continued, holding his mother tightly to his chest, “And I honestly know nothing about him.”_

_As her sobs subsided, his mother looked up into his dark brown eyes.  Lyanna reached up to stroke Jon’s cheek, smiling as she felt the beginnings of his soft, fuzzy beard that he and his buddy, Sam, had decided to try to grow._

_“I know that I was a mistake,” Jon added, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to sound brave, “Is that why you don’t like to talk about him?”_

_“Don’t you ever call yourself that again!” Lyanna barked suddenly, raising her voice for the first time since Jon could remember, “I chose to have you and to keep you.  You were unplanned, yes.  But you were never a mistake!”_

_As she cupped Jon’s face in both of her small hands, making sure that he was looking directly at her, Lyanna began her story without introduction.  “I met your father when I was a third-year nursing student.  I fell madly in love.  When I found out you were on the way, I chose not to tell your father about you.”_

_“Why?” Jon rasped, feeling slightly dizzy at finally hearing the origins of his birth, “Why would you do that?”_

_“He was already married,” Lyanna sighed, watching Jon’s eyes widen in shock, “And I knew that when we began our affair.”  Lowering her eyes to her lap, Jon’s mother continued, “When I found out I was pregnant, I knew that I wanted you.  I never once thought about ending your life or giving you away for another woman to raise.  You were mine.  And although I wasn’t raised Catholic, my family was still religious.  They were scandalized by my behavior, and they wanted nothing to do with me once I had told them what had happened.  A Catholic friend at college helped me find a place at the unwed mother’s home down here in Hardhome.  So, I dropped out and came here.  Thanks to Father Davos and the kind sisters of Our Lady of the Wall, the Catholic community rallied around me, helped me find a place to live, gave me a job counseling other single moms at the Pregnancy Crisis Center, and took care of my medical expenses.  I converted and joined the church a few weeks before you were born.”_

_“Did you ever tell him about me?” Jon asked quietly, looking down at his feet as he tried to process the sudden deluge of information._

_“I sent your father a letter when you were almost three that time you were so sick I wasn’t sure if you were going to pull through.  He told me that his life had no room for a secret son.  I never tried to contact him again.”_

_Jon was mortified.  The total rage he felt at his unnamed, adulterous father for denying him and for abandoning his mother was threatening to consume him.  No wonder she didn’t want to talk about him._

_“Mum, I swear to God, I’ll never ask you about that man again,” Jon said firmly, resigning himself to the fact he may never know anything else, “If he didn’t want to know me then, he doesn’t want to know me now.”  Unable to hold back his tears any longer, he started to cry._

_Holding her son as he sobbed in her arms, Lyanna gently pulled his head down until he rested it on her shoulder, “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, Jon Snow, but you were never one of them.  You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

As Jon stared angrily out the windshield of his black Ford pickup truck at yet another red light that had caught him since he had left the church 25 minutes ago as he headed to Sansa’s apartment, he admonished himself for not being patient.  Patience was not one of the seven heavenly virtues that Jon possessed an abundance of on any given day, and since Sansa Stark had rolled into Hardhome, his lack of it was becoming glaringly obvious.

Once the morning Mass had ended, Jon quickly ran through his required greeting time with the handful of congregants who had attended.  Hoping to cut and run as soon as possible, he deftly distracted the little old ladies of the Altar Flower Guild, pawning them off onto Father Sam, who had unwittingly entered the sanctuary at just the right time.  After telling the ladies how much Father Sam was looking forward to taking the tour of their latest floral arrangements spread about the church, Sam, who was fully aware that Jon was throwing him to the wolves on purpose, acquiesced but not before shooting Jon a dirty look.  Mouthing the words “thank you” while walking backward, Jon turned toward the church doors to make his escape.

When Jon had looked for Sansa in her classroom, he discovered that Sister Unella was leading her 3rd period Latin class.  Apparently, Sansa had requested the rest of the day off today due to her raging allergies.  And the hard, cold stare that he had received from Sister Unella when he dared to ask her specific details about what time Sansa had left and where she might be headed, made Jon’s mouth snap shut and his feet lead him directly out of the school at record speed.

 _Allergies,_ Jon sighed as the red light finally changed, _Allergies my foot._

Making his way back to his office, Jon stopped on route just outside the school to try to call Sansa on her cell phone.  Thankfully, he had saved her contact info months ago when they were working together to plan the summer picnic sponsored by the Young Adults Ministry.  No answer.  He decided that he would try her cell again in a short while, so Jon continued onward, completely ignoring Mrs. Mordane as he headed straight for his office.  However, 45 minutes, three phone calls and two messages, later, Sansa had not responded to any of his attempts to reach her.

Determined to speak with her, Jon told a very confused Mrs. Mordane that he needed to cancel his appointments this afternoon because he needed to attend to a personal matter.  As Mrs. Mordane began to ask him if he needed her to call Father Sam, Jon told her that he was fine and that he would return to the rectory later in the evening.  Exiting the church office before Mrs. Mordane could pry any further into the nature of his business, Jon all but ran to his truck before jumping in and driving straight to Sansa’s apartment.

Jon had only been there twice in the nine months that she had lived in Hardhome.  The first time was when she hosted a dinner for the leaders of the Young Adults Ministry shortly after she had arrived.  He had enjoyed spending time with her that evening and often thought about how marvelous she looked that night in the pale pink sweater dress and black boots.  The second time he had gone to her apartment was when she had invited him to have dinner with her and her parents when they had come to visit Sansa last month.  Jon had hit it off immediately with her father, Ned, who was a kind, soft-spoken man.  Her mother, Catelyn, was very outgoing and friendly, much like her daughter, with the same flaming red hair and shiny blue eyes to boot.

Arriving at Sansa’s apartment complex, Jon quickly pulled into an empty space outside her building.  Steadying his nerves with a deep breath, he silently prayed for guidance on what to say and how to counsel Sansa about her relationship with Harry.  That was assuming that she even wanted to talk to him at all, considering how he had handled their previous interaction when she had tried to talk to him this morning in his office.

Jon stood stoically outside her apartment door.  His hand was poised to knock, but before he could make contact on the door with his knuckles, he froze.

 _You’re being irrational,_ he chastised himself, _You shouldn’t be alone with her in her apartment.  You should be patient and wait for her to call or to come see you again._

But then, Jon never really was a patient man.

Once he knocked on her door, Jon stood outside and waited.  Waited to see if she even answered.  Waited to see if she wanted to talk or to make confession.  Waited to see if he could get through a conversation with her without doing something foolish.

As the door cracked opened slowly, Sansa’s light blue eyes were blown wide with both shock and confusion.

“Father Jon!” she gasped at seeing him standing on her doorstep, “What are you doing here?”

Clearing his throat, Jon began his explanation.  “Hello, Sansa.  I was worried about you after you left my office,” he smiled, hoping to make the situation even a fraction less awkward for the both of them, “So, I went by to see you at school after Mass and found out that you’d already left for the day.

“Oh,” Sansa replied, her eyes cast downward, “I…I left early.  I was feeling out of sorts, so I came home.”  She still hadn’t opened the door all the way yet, but he could see enough of her form to take note that she had changed since arriving at her residence.

Her long, copper hair had been pulled into a low, messy ponytail.  The prim and proper teacher outfit she had sported earlier had been replaced by an extremely form-fitting white tank top and snug black yoga pants.  Her bare feet and her hot pink toenails made Jon wonder if maybe she hadn’t responded to his calls because she had been taking a nap.  And thinking of Sansa asleep on her bed made Jon also think about other activities Sansa might enjoy doing on her bed…

_Come one, Snow!  Get it together, man!_

“I see,” Father Jon muttered as he folded his sweaty hands behind his back, “Well, I just needed to know that you were doing alright.  I was worried about you.”  With that admission, Jon lowered his eyes to his feet, staring blindly at the lines and crackles of his black leather dress shoes.

They stood like that for what felt like the eight longest seconds of Jon’s life before she finally spoke to him again.

“Would you like to come in, Father Jon?” Sansa asked tentatively, the uncertainty of whether he would agree to her offer quite obvious in her tone.

Jon’s dark brown eyes immediately darted up to see that Sansa was looking at him with such an intense stare that he could feel the heat beginning to radiate right off the top of his curls.  His gut was clenching as he began to internally war with himself.  He had seen her, plain as day, and she was fine.  Just peachy, really.  He should offer her to come talk to him at the church office, bid her adieu, turn his ass around, and get the hell out of this apartment building before he went inside her place and did something extremely rash.

But then, Jon never really was a patient man.

 “Thank you, I’d like that,” he said with a smile.  When she widened the doorway, stepping to the side to allow him access, Jon entered her apartment.  As she shut the door behind him, he could feel his heartrate increase exponentially.

 _You shouldn’t be here,_ he warned himself, _Why are you really here?_

“Would you like something to drink?” Sansa offered as she walked toward her small kitchen, “Water?  Coffee?  Tea?”

“Sure! I’ll just have whatever you have, thanks.  That would be great,” he answered, rubbing his sticky palms together nervously.  Walking around her living room aimlessly, Jon looked at the dozens of family photographs either hanging on her walls or placed on the various tables surrounding her couch.  Her parents, her brothers, her sister…they all looked so happy.

“Please, have a seat,” Sansa said as she smiled widely at him, handing him a cup of tea.  “I hope you like a hint of lemon in your tea, since I’d already fixed the tea to my tastes.”

“Of course,” Jon smiled in return as he took from her hands the dainty porcelain teacup decorated with elegant purple flowers and silver trim, “I’m easy.  I’ll take whatever you give me and smile while you give it.”

And of course, Jon’s stupid little off-the-cuff remark fell right out of his mouth before he thought it through, a comment that caused Sansa to bite her bottom lip in a poor attempt to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh at his ridiculous, completely unintentional double-entendre.

Quickly assessing the seating arrangement, Jon cleared his throat and opted to sit on the end of her tan suede couch opposite from where she stood.  He hoped that his choice of location would help her to feel comfortable with being alone with her priest in her apartment.  Of course, he could just be projecting his own inner turmoil right now because damn him if she didn’t seem completely at ease with his presence when she followed right behind him and parked herself on the middle cushion.  Their knees were practically touching, she was that close.

“Thanks for coming all the way over here to check on me,” Sansa began, taking a sip from her matching teacup.  “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but I’m fine.  I just…I needed some time to think, you know?”  She leaned forward to set her cup down on the coffee table.

“Certainly,” Jon nodded in agreement, feeling like his clerical collar was three-sizes-too-small at the moment.  She was wearing one of those tank tops with the built-in shelf bra.  The kind of tank top that neither covers a woman’s breasts very well nor hides the fact that it might be a tad too cold in the room.  “I understand.  I do want you to know that as your priest and as your friend, I am here for you should you wish to discuss further what you wanted to talk about this morning in my office.”  As he finished his opening salvo, setting his teacup on the table next to hers, he could see the defeat overtake her pretty, pale face.

“Listen, Father Jon, I’m so sorry about what happened today,” she sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.  She hung her head slightly as she stared down at her bare feet.  “I was a complete idiot this morning.  That was _so_ inappropriate.  I should have just gone to confession over at church instead of cornering you in your - ”

“Sansa, don’t beat yourself up about what happened,” Jon interrupted before she could finish her thought, “We all make mistakes.”  When her pale blue eyes shot up to look into his face, her perfectly manicured ginger eyebrows knitting in confusion, he suddenly wished that he could slink out the front door without her noticing him leave.

“Make a mistake?” Sansa asked, her head tilting to the side.  Her eyes narrowed briefly before she continued, “Was my mistake coming to talk to you this morning or was it sleeping with Harry?  Maybe both?”

Jon felt like a complete moron.  A total buffoon.  Could he possibly handle this situation any worse?

“Uh, what I meant was, you know…” he stammered, swallowing hard as he momentarily forgot what he was trying to communicate.  Her lips were parted slightly, her pink tongue darting out, running along her bottom lip slowly before spreading the moisture to her top lip.  His eyes tracked her oral movements.  Then Jon heard her giggle.  When his eyes lifted to meet hers, she was smiling at him.

_Mercy on my soul but she is a siren…_

“I know what you meant, Father,” Sansa giggled, reaching out to pat his thigh, “I shouldn’t tease you, even if it’s incredibly cute to watch you blush like that,” she added while looking toward his reddened cheeks.  As her delicate, smooth hand made contact with his leg, Jon just about groaned at the sensation of her touch, even if he was completely clothed.  Between that little tongue display of hers and her intimate touch, Sansa had just catapulted herself outside the boundaries of what is and isn’t acceptable in touching a priest.

And sweet baby Jesus, he was absolutely loving every stinking minute of it.

“Good…that’s very good,” he muttered, not quite sure if those words were falling out of his mouth because he hadn’t made a complete ass of himself after all or because he was really, _really_ enjoying the feel of her hand resting far too comfortably on his leg.

“So, do you have time to hear my confession before you leave?” Sansa asked as she slowly removed her hand, returning it to her lap and resting in demurely on top of her other one.

“Your confession?” Jon blinked, his entire train of thought completely derailed at the moment.

“Yeah, my confession,” she grinned.  One ginger eyebrow raised almost in challenge as she folded her arms in front of her ample bosom, “Father Jon, are you alright?”

That question snapped him back to reality.

“Yes, yes of course,” Jon said as he unconsciously carded his hand through his curls, “Your confession.  Absolutely.  I always have time for you, Sansa.  I’d do anything for you.”

Once again, Jon wished that God would reach down and smack him right upside his head.  Sitting in her living room, completely and totally alone with her, he was rapidly losing any sense of reality.  It felt like they were just two regular folks sitting together on the couch, shooting the breeze and just hanging out with each other.  He was beginning to feel like some ordinary bloke who was simply talking to a beautiful young woman.

He was a priest, though.  A priest who was so far gone for this incredibly attractive, intelligent, funny, and thoughtful woman that if he stayed in her presence much longer, he was dangerously close to doing something stupid.  Like finding any lame excuse to reach out and touch her.  Or worse yet, finally confessing his true feelings to her.

“I didn’t mean a _confession_ confession,” she laughed, “I meant, would it be OK if I finished talking to you about what I began discussing with you this morning, Father Jon?  Just as friends?”

Jon let out a gust of air that he didn’t realize that he’d been holding in the first place, “Absolutely.  I’m all ears.”

Sansa’s smile slowly faded as she began talking to him, “When I met Harry, he seemed like the kind of pious guy a good Catholic girl would want to marry one day.  All the stupid romantic notions I had…the flowers, the hand holding, all of that crap.”  Breathing in deeply, Sansa reached for her teacup that was sitting on the table and took a sip before returning it to its coaster.  “He’s been pushing me to sleep with him for months now, but I really can’t blame him for my decision to go through with it, though.  It was my first time, and I was hoping that the act would somehow magically change my heart.  I mean, he seems like the kind of man I should fall in love with, you know?”

“Appearances are often deceiving,” Jon rasped as he reached to scratch his beard, “We often present ourselves differently to a partner in the early stages of a romantic relationship because we want to appear worthy of the other person’s love and admiration.”

“Exactly!” Sansa exclaimed, shaking her head vigorously in agreement with his assessment, “Well, it turns out that Harry isn’t the sweet, gentle, good Catholic boy he pretends to be.  He’s arrogant, self-centered, and I doubt that he could love anyone as much as he loves himself.  And he’s obsessed with sex.”

Jon simply nodded his head in agreement at hearing that little nugget of intel.  When she said the word ‘sex,’ placing a little extra emphasis on the word, he squirmed just a little on the couch.  Just a little.

“After it was all over…I was so happy that he took off as fast as he could.  I’ve been avoiding him since then.” Sansa continued, brushing off some imaginary lint from her yoga pants as she swallowed hard.

“I noticed that the two of you didn’t sit together at Mass on Sunday,” Jon offered, “I didn’t think anything of it, though.”

“No, I came in late so I could sit in the back of the church instead of the front pew with Harry,” Sansa added, her eyes now lifting to meet his, “I still don’t want to talk to him, although I know I need to soon.”

“What will you tell him?” Jon asked, unsure of what advice he could offer since he did not have much experience in the realm of dating.

“I guess I’ll tell him that we’re through,” she pondered, “I don’t love him.  It’s wrong to keep leading him on like I’ve been doing, especially since he wants to become more serious now that we’ve…you know…”

Jon wanted to jump off the couch and click his heels with joy, he was that excited to hear that she was going to get rid of that wretched man.  In the act of confession with the young priest early in his tenure at Our Lady of the Wall, Harry had asked for forgiveness for repeating a sin.  Harry explained that he had recently discovered that he had impregnated one of his subordinates at his family business back home in Arryntown.  Jon had been stunned at Harry’s revelation, and upon inquiring further in a feeble attempt to offer pastoral guidance to his parishioner, Jon was horrified to learn that Harry had not only fathered a child with this unnamed woman, but he had coerced her using the almighty dollar to make herself scarce since he wanted nothing to do with either her or the child.  And when Harry scoffed at the level of penance Jon put forth for his sins, Harry’s parting comment to Jon was that the campus priest had been much easier on him when the same thing had occurred during Harry’s senior year of college.

The sanctity of the confessional booth was a given.  It was a sacrament that Jon could not break, but damn him if he didn’t want to shout at Sansa that she was making the right choice by leaving Harry.  Jon wanted to tell this beautiful, wonderful woman how fortunate that she was to come to her realization that Harry was a deceitful man sooner than later.

“Yes, I agree with you.  You need to tell Harry how you feel,” Jon said as he tried desperately not to smile, “No good will come of it if you continue to pretend something that isn’t true.”

“How do you do it, Father Jon?” Sansa asked, her eyes narrowing once again as she studied him.

“Do what, Sansa?” he replied nervously.

“How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?” she smiled.

“I don’t believe that’s the case,” Jon laughed, “Because if that were true, you’d not have left my office like it had caught on fire.”  As the words left his mouth, he could feel his pulse starting to race.  He hadn’t forgotten that she had told him that she was in love with someone this morning during her visit.  And damn him, he wanted to know who was the object of her affection, even if it would probably tear his guts in two once he knew who the lucky man was.

“I didn’t leave your office because you had said something wrong,” Sansa corrected.

“Then why _did_ you leave so abruptly?” Jon inquired, the curiosity eating him alive. 

Sansa’s demeanor changed instantaneously.  Her eyes lowered to her lap, her shoulders slumped forward ever-so-slightly, and her breathing suddenly increased.  “I…I’m not sure what you mean…”

He was a dog with a bone.  A man on a mission.  He needed to know why she ran out of his office like a bat heading straight out of hell.  Yet he _was_ supposed to be patient, right?

But then, Jon never really was a patient man.

 “I think you do,” Jon pushed.  He didn’t know why he needed to hear her say that she loved someone else, and he definitely wasn’t sure what he’d say or do if she actually told him whom the man was that she was thinking about while having sex with Harry.  But his gut instinct told him that he really, _really_ needed to hear her answer the question.  And buried deep within the far-reaching corner of his brain, Jon wondered if he already knew the answer.  “Who is it, Sansa, that has garnered your affections?  Will you tell me?”

Sansa worried her bottom lip at hearing his question, “I don’t think I should, Father Jon.”

“Why not?” Jon huffed as his impatience started to bubble to the surface, “I’m your priest.  You can tell me anything.  Please trust me.  You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course, I trust you!” Sansa replied, her voice rising as she spoke.  He could tell his questions were causing her embarrassment and maybe even pissing her off royally right now.  Yet, he couldn’t control himself.  He had to know.

“Then tell me,” Jon requested, “Tell me who this mystery man is.”

Sansa simply shook her head.  “No.  I can’t.  It’s…no, I really shouldn’t.”

Now Jon’s blood was up.  No way in hell was he supposed to press her like this.  As both her priest and as her friend, he should back off and wait for her to be ready to talk to him openly.  He should be patient.

But he wasn’t.

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me,” he insisted, staring hard into her crystal eyes, searching for an answer.  Keenly aware of how inappropriate his actions toward her had become, Jon refused to back down now that he was so close to knowing the truth. 

Almost a full minute of silence passed between the two of them before Sansa answered him.

“It’s you, Father Jon,” she admitted so quietly that her voice almost was inaudible.

Jon heard her, though, as loudly and as clearly as if she had a two-foot long megaphone perched right up against his ear.  His eyes just about rolled right out of their sockets and into his lap.

Sansa Stark, the most beautiful woman on the planet, the very woman who had caused Jon to burn on the inside with such intense, raw desire, just admitted that she was in love…with him.

“Me?” Jon virtually whispered, “You’re in love…with me?”

“Yes, you,” Sansa said as she rolled her eyes in frustration that she had let the proverbial cat out of the bag, “How could you not tell?  Are you that oblivious to everything that’s happened between you and me?”

Instantly, Jon began replaying in his brain their nine months’ worth of looks, touches, and conversations.  The way she casually brushed up against his shoulder when they stood next to one another at the Young Adult Ministry meetings…the way her hand would always find its way into his when she made confession…the few times she had given him a lingering hug right before she had left his office after they had discussed plans for expanding the food pantry over the last three weeks…

_God have mercy on my soul, it’s so obvious…she’s in love with me…_

Jon’s silence went on too long for Sansa’s comfort, apparently.  Shutting her eyes to hold back the tears that dared to escape, she stood rapidly and walked toward the front door.

“Father Jon, forgive me, but I _really_ would like it if you would leave right now before I stick my foot even further down my throat today.”  As she finished her statement, she pulled open the front door.  “Please.  Go.”

Seeing her clearly in distress, Jon’s resolve snapped.  For nine painfully long months, he had agonized over his feelings for Sansa.  He had prayed to God fervently to release him of the intense longing for a woman he could never have, both because of her love for another man and because of his vocation.  Jon had repeatedly discussed his growing love for Sansa with his confessor, Father Davos, whose advice that Jon should distance himself from the young lady and to seek God’s mercy through prayer and fasting had fallen on deaf ears.  And for the first time since Ygritte, the young woman who had stolen his heart back when he was still in seminary, Jon found himself questioning his decision to become a priest.  Jon was seriously wondering if a man so hell-bound should remain a man of the cloth.

“Sansa, please, you're right.  We should talk about what's happening between us,” Jon said as he stood, placing his hands in front of him in pose of surrender, “We should - ”

Much to his surprise, Sansa burst out laughing as her tears finally began to fall, “Oh, that’s rich!  ‘We.’  That’s just it, don’t you see?  There is no ‘we.’  And there never will be.  There can’t be.”  Her voice was cracking as she began to cry while continuing to hold open her front door, “Please, Jon…just go.”

Hearing her use his Christian name without the ‘Father’ attached to it finally sent him over the edge.

Quickly closing the distance between them, Jon approached an extremely bewildered Sansa as she watched him stalk forward.  Slamming the door shut with his foot, wrenching it from her grasp while she was still holding it, Jon grabbed Sansa’s now empty hand and yanked her to him.  As she yelped in surprise, his mouth descended upon hers without warning.

The sensation of Sansa’s plump, pliant lips meshing with his own caused Jon to emit a feral moan from deep within is throat.  Catching on rapidly to the direction he was headed, Sansa sighed in response, pulling her hand from his grasp.  As she clutched his head in her hands, desperately holding onto his soft brown curls as Jon kissed her with all of the passion and longing that he had been repressing for months, Sansa swiped her tongue along his lower lip.  Jon gasped but opened his mouth as he tilted his head, allowing her to explore.  Feeling her mouth starting to devour his, fighting him for control, he wrapped his hands around her lithe waist and pulled her flush with his muscular body, an action that caused her to groan wantonly as he ground his growing erection into her stomach.

Jon was a priest.  Sansa’s priest, no less.  He was an ordained servant of God who was entrusted with the spiritual guidance and the salvation of his flock.  He had promised to be chaste and to be obedient.  Yet all Jon could think about while kissing Sansa was how utterly marvelous life outside the boundaries of those promises truly was.

Shoving her back against the door, Jon continued to kiss Sansa with all of his might.  As their tongues battled for dominance, his hands took on a life of their own, slipping underneath the hem of her tank top.  Jon’s hands made their way northward, deliciously close to the target locked in their sights.  Pausing momentarily, just inches away from making contact, he sought her permission to continue.

“Sansa,” he whispered as he broke their kiss, his eyes searching her face for any sign that she wanted him to stop, “Can I…would it be alright if I touched you?”

“Yes,” she replied hoarsely, her legs widening to allow his thigh to rest between them, “God, yes!”

As she began to grind her womanhood against his fully-clothed leg, Jon’s hands continued their ascent.  When they reached the thin scrap of fabric masquerading as a bra sewn into her top, he tugged it roughly upward, releasing her pale, lightly freckled breasts from their restraint.

“Jon…please,” Sansa begged as he tentatively cupped her bare breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently while testing their weight.  She was fisting handfuls of his curls, scratching her nails along his scalp, whimpering as his thumbs slowly brushed small circles around her hardened pink nipples.

Watching his hands as he explored Sansa’s chest on full display in all of its glory, Jon felt like he was having an out of body experience.  He knew that he was in direct violation of practically every canonical law on the books, yet he didn’t care.  Not one iota.  The beautiful, sensual sounds that Sansa was emitting thanks to his ministrations was just about enough to make him come on the spot.

Emboldened by his actions, Jon allowed his hands to wander.  As his hands descended downward slowly, ever so slowly as his fingers ghosted along her sides, Sansa threw her head back, tacitly inviting him to taste her flesh.  Lowering his head, Jon began kissing her neck just under her jaw, working his way downward until he was kissing her décollatage.

“Please, Jon…oh, God,” she murmured as she rocked her hips faster against him.

Jon felt his cock pushing hard against the zipper of his black dress slacks as it begged for its freedom.  The pressure building inside his body was causing him to act irrationally.  He was a drowning man.  He was falling deep into the dark water of his passions, descending further and further downward without even trying to save himself.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jon could feel Sansa’s gasp of both shock and pleasure resonating in her chest as his hand dipped below the elastic waistband of her yoga pants.

“Jon!” she panted as she pushed against his shoulders, causing him to cease his endeavors, “We need…we should stop…we need…to talk about this…”

Raising his head, looking her directly in the eyes, Jon began to feel the sting of what he had done.  The blue of Sansa’s eyes was almost invisible behind her dilated pupils.  Her lips were swollen, and her bare chest was rising and falling rapidly in time with her ragged breaths.  Licking his lips unconsciously, he could still taste a faint hint of lemon and honey from his time spent plundering her mouth.

“Talk about this…” he repeated blankly, his brain beginning to reboot as he started to awaken from his lust-induced fog.  Looking down to see his hands poised to invade her nether regions, he suddenly snapped back to reality.  He had just pinned Sansa against her front door, kissed the living daylights out of her, copped a feel, and was about to try to slide into third base like some horny teenage boy in the backseat of his daddy’s car.

_Lord, forgive me for taking advantage of her…_

“Oh, God, Sansa, please forgive me!  I’m so sorry!” he cried out as he jumped back, jerking his hands off her body like he had just laid his hands on the burner of a hot stove, “I shouldn’t have touched you!”

“Jon, no, it’s OK.  I wanted you to touch me, remember?” she replied soothingly, pulling her tank top back into place while stepping forward.  Reaching out to hold his upper arms and pull him back to her, she tried to reassure him, “I’m not mad at you!”

Before Sansa could place her hands on him, Jon backed up so fast that he bumped into her coffee table.  Stumbling slightly, he caught himself before he fell.  The embarrassment of what he had just allowed himself to do was overwhelming him now.  He couldn’t meet her eyes for the shame he felt at having taken advantage of her.  “I should go.  I need to go, Sansa,” he muttered as he lunged for the door.

“Jon, please!  Don’t go!  Wait!” she called out to him in vain.  Before she could stop him, he yanked her front door open, sprinting into the hallway of her apartment building and down the steps leading from to the main entrance.  He virtually flew when his feet hit the sidewalk, unlocking and jumping into his truck as fast as he could.  And as he backed up and spun the steering wheel to make his escape, he could hear his mother’s words in resonating through his head:

_“I’ve made plenty of mistakes, Jon Snow, but you were never one of them.”_

Choking up at remembering his mother’s words, Jon wondered just how far he had fallen in his mother’s eyes, God rest her soul.

“Please, mum,” Jon stammered as he stopped at a red light a few blocks from Sansa’s apartment, the tears now threatening to burst forth, “Pray for your son, a sinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think Father Jon will do now? Or Sansa?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is left wondering what is going on in Father Jon's head after their brief encounter earlier in the day. Showing up at the food pantry to serve her volunteer hours, she is hopeful that Father Jon will stop by as usual. Instead, Harry comes by to see her, and once she leads him to a private place to end their relationship, things go badly very quickly. Thankfully, a knight in shining armor comes to Sansa's rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, there will be a moment in this chapter where Harry's intentions with Sansa may become a trigger for anyone who has been in a situation where someone has tried to force themselves upon them. There is no actual rape committed, but the interchange between Harry and Sansa does turn dark until her savior shows up on the scene. Please wait until the next chapter of this story if you need to skip this one.

_“Good morning, Sansa,” Father Jon smiled brightly as he stood slightly behind her, beaming at her as she sat all alone at the six-seater round table inside the parish hall, “That certainly is a lovely dress you’re wearing today.”_

_“Thank you, Father Jon,” she said sweetly while turning to face him.  Sansa had come with Harry to the high school band’s fundraising effort this crisp Saturday morning, but as usual, he had already abandoned her, this time leaving her to talk to some other parish council members about pending business at tomorrow’s meeting._

_“That yellow of your dress reminds me of summer,” Father Jon continued as he rocked back and forth slightly on his heels, a slightly mischievous grin overtaking his handsome features, “And your hair…it’s absolutely stunning when you leave it curly like that.”_

_Upon hearing Father Jon’s praise, she couldn’t contain the self-satisfied grin that spread across her taupe lips.  He had noticed the extra effort she had put into her routine this morning when she was getting ready.  Sure, wearing her favorite silky, lemon-yellow sleeveless dress, topped with a frilly white shrug and paired with her taupe three inch heels, was probably overkill for attending a church-sponsored pancake breakfast, but it had been so worth it.  She knew just how good she looked in that outfit, and apparently, Father Jon agreed._

_As she gazed into her priest’s dark brown eyes, she felt her breath hitch as she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he continued to very publicly drink in the sight of her.  He had already toed the line of decorum with his comments, just as he was apt to do these days when no one was within earshot, but now…his highly visible appraisal of her form was borderline sinful._

_“So, where are you sitting this morning?” Sansa asked as she cleared her throat, feeling the flush of crimson starting to paint her cheeks, “With Father Sam, I suppose?”_

_Father Jon’s deep, husky laugh caused a tingle to race up and down her spine.  He cocked his head to the side, looking up at her through his lashes, “No, I’m afraid that Father Sam has already been confiscated by the good ladies of the Women’s Guild.  And since I’m quite certain that he is having the time of his life, I left him to enjoy their company all by himself.”_

_Sansa giggled at the insinuation that Father Jon was actually happy that Mrs. Mordane and company had cornered Father Sam instead of him.  “Well, you are welcome to sit here with me.  Harry has disappeared, as usual, so I’m all alone.”_

_“All alone?” Father Jon asked, his thick brown eyebrow raising at her admission, “Well, now, we can’t have that, now can we?  Thank you, Sansa.  I’d be delighted to join you.”  When he sat down beside her, their knees accidentally bumped.  Sansa swore that she felt a jolt, like a shockwave had surged through her body upon contact.  Swallowing hard to keep herself under control, she was acutely aware that Father Jon’s knee was still in full contact with hers, and he was making no effort to rehome said knee._

_“Have you eaten yet?” Sansa chirped, trying desperately to focus on his face and not his damn knee, “Jeyne has been busting the teenagers’ humps in that kitchen since seven.  She’s been wondering when you were finally going to make an appearance.”_

_“I’ll have to apologize to Jeyne, then, for being delinquent in my attendance today,” Father Jon replied, smiling and waving at various parishioners as they mingled and walked past their table.  “She’s a very brave lady to take on such a large project as this.”_

_“Jeyne Poole is tough, Father.  A real survivor,” Sansa joked, “That’s why she’s the band instructor.  I can’t even imagine how hard it is to get all of those kids to march in time with one another.”_

_Jon’s eyes suddenly lit up with merriment, “Any woman who can cause a bunch of wealthy, disengaged teens to suddenly love their Latin class is also a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Stark?”  As he finished his taunt, his tongue danced across his bottom lip.  Sansa had no idea what thought had just flittered across his mind, but if it were anything like what she was thinking right now…_

_Before she could think of a witty reply, Harry returned to the table, interrupting their moment and changing the course of the conversation.  “Hey, Father Jon!” Harry barked, grabbing Father Jon’s hand in that annoying salesman-like handshake blended with a shoulder grab that Harry liked to give, “Do you have a minute?  I need to go over the figures with you before the parish council meeting tomorrow afternoon.  It’ll only take a second, I swear!”_

_“Sure, Harry,” Father Jon replied, his smile seemingly fake now.  As he stood from his seat beside her, Father Jon gave Sansa a silent nod and slight smile as Harry led the way toward the church office.  As she watched the man she loved leave with the man she was supposed to love, Sansa’s heart yearned to be free._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Standing alone inside of the church’s food pantry, nestled in the far corner beside the hallway leading to the kitchen, she checked her cell phone once again, hoping that perhaps she hadn’t heard it ring.  No luck.  Right now, Sansa would love nothing more than to bang her head against the counter on which she was sorting canned goods to shelve for inadvertently throwing a bucket of ice water on the brief moment when Father Jon Snow was hers.

After Jon’s abrupt departure, she has spent a solid hour in tears.  She had told him that she was in love with him, and damn her if she didn’t believe that he felt the same, even though his vocation may prevent him from acknowledging his true feelings for her.  Sansa knew that he wanted her, and God forgive her but her passion for Jon was on fire now that she had tasted his kiss and felt his touch.

Jon hadn’t called or texted since he had fled from her apartment hours ago, but frankly, she hadn’t truly expected him to try to contact her yet.  Most likely, he was holed up in his quarters at the rectory, trying to tread water after plummeting into the vast ocean of guilt at what they had done.  Jon was a life-long Catholic like herself and a priest, damn her.  What _did_ she expect from him, really?

His body had told her that he was on board with their kiss.  Especially his strong hands.  They were _definitely_ on board.  He had rushed out the door just as soon as she had paused their passionate make out session.  However, Sansa was quite certain that had she not interrupted the moment like the fool she had been, Jon would have gone much further.  _Much_ further indeed.

Sansa knew that her behavior when in Jon’s presence had been in a downward, lust-filled spiral over the last nine months.  What started out as innocent touches when she handed him something or lingering looks when she thought he might not notice had mutated into some rather overt yet unspoken flirtations.

At first, she would have bet her trust fund that Jon had no clue how much she wanted to be near him.  Constantly, she found excuses to see him in his office, to ask him about upcoming Young Adult Ministry activities of which she was the chair, or to stand next to him as close as was socially acceptable during her hours at the food pantry.

Then back in February, Sansa discovered through a passing conversation with Jon during a high school basketball game that he had enjoyed studying Latin back in the day.  On the spot, she boldly invited him to come the following week to her Friday afternoon 6th grade class to help encourage her first-year students to feel comfortable when trying to speak the language in front of their peers.  Jon readily agreed to her plan, which caused Sansa to feel giddy with delight at her moment of brilliance.  If all went well, she could parlay this event into a weekly “date” with Jon, even if it was in the presence of 13 twelve-year olds.  Jon would see her at her best, both as a teacher and as a scholar, and for 50 minutes once a week, he would be virtually hers.

During his first visit to her class, however, it only took about five minutes for her mouth to drop wide open when he whipped out his Latin skills.  She quickly realized that Jon didn’t just enjoy Latin, he _owned_ it.  His fluency in the antique language far surpassed her own.  When the kids were allowed to give him silly sentences to translate, Jon could spit it out on the spot faster than Google could ever dream of doing.  And when she sat at the back of the class, listening to him talk with the kids or recite various prayers and passages from their texts, Sansa prayed that no one in the room would notice how tightly she had to cross her legs.

Of all the interactions between them, Sansa knew it was their time spent together in class that sealed the deal for her.  His smile when she tried to catch him off-guard with a request to recite Aquinas from memory…his playful winks when she was completely flustered that he had outdone her once again...everything about Jon made her heart race while he was in her presence in that classroom. 

Checking her cell phone one last time, Sansa turned it off and tossed it back into her purse.  As she sighed, wondering when if Jon would even show up for their “date” on Friday, she heard someone approaching her.

“Hey, Sansa,” Jeyne smiled as she stood in front of her colleague and friend, “Are you doing alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sansa replied, trying to return Jeyne’s heartfelt pleasantries.

“You know, you didn’t have to come in tonight if your allergies were still making you feel bad,” Jeyne continued, her eyes obviously scanning Sansa’s face which still bore the remnants of a day full of angst, “We could have covered for you.”

“Thanks, Jeyne, you’re a terrific fried,” Sansa smiled.  Jeyne was such a caring young woman, about the same age as herself.

“OK, well, if you need to go home, don’t worry about it.  Just go, yeah?” Jeyne added as she moved to return to her spot over by several other young ladies who were present tonight to restock the pantry for Saturday morning when the church opened its doors to donate items to those in need.

“Sure, thanks, I will,” Sansa responded as cheerfully as she could muster.  Glancing at her watch as Jeyne resumed the tasks at hand, Sansa sighed deeply.  It was 6:38.  She had arrived right on time at five to begin her two-hour shift, and Jon had not shown up yet.  He always made an appearance during the pantry restocking hours on Wednesday evenings to say hello to the ladies present and to thank them for volunteering to help the needy.  However, after their little heart-to-heart earlier in the day, Sansa was betting that he was avoiding this place like the Plague had been unleashed.  Resolving to try to call Jon one last time when she arrived at home later, she started to walk back to her post.  Just as she was about to grab the last few donated items to finish organizing the canned vegetables, who should walk into the church food pantry but Harry Hardyng.

 _Oh no,_ Sansa thought to herself as Harry’s blue eyes locked on his target.  Making a bee-line straight for her, she braced herself for what would most likely be a terribly awkward conversation.  _Not here…not here…_

“Hey, sweetheart,” Harry grinned as he reached out to hold her hand.  When he leaned in to place a kiss on her lips, Sansa turned her head slightly, causing him to actually make contact with her cheek.  Pulling back to study her expression, Harry’s eyes narrowed as she gently removed her small hand from his.  “I was hoping that I’d find you here tonight,” he continued while watching Sansa intently, “Although, I’m kind of surprised you actually showed up after all.”

“I volunteer here every week,” Sansa responded rather tersely, her eyes not meeting his while he stared hard at her, “It shouldn’t really be that much of a surprise.”

Harry’s mouth turned into a slightly devious grin, “Well, Jeyne told me when I came by the school this afternoon to surprise you with lunch that you had already left because you were so sick from your allergies.  I figured you might not show up here tonight, but I came just in case. It looks like it’s my lucky day, sweetheart.”

_Ugh.  Enough already with the sweetheart already.  And no, it’s definitely not your lucky day._

Before Sansa could figure out a way to avoid talking to Harry any longer, he was momentarily distracted by a couple of ladies on the parish council who approached him with questions about his email regarding the scheduled meeting for this Saturday after the evening Mass.  While listening to Harry talk, Sansa scrutinized him while he chatted about the budget for the church’s parking lot repaving plans.  Harry was tall, well-built, and extremely attractive with his blond hair, dark blue eyes, and ruggedly handsome features.  He was a very wealthy young man, lived in a palatial apartment, drove a fancy sports car, and dressed like a model.  Yet the man on the inside that Sansa had come to know over these last nine months just didn’t match the exterior.  Without a doubt, she would never learn to love Harry, even if Jon ignored her for the rest of her life.

Sansa steeled her nerves.  It was over.  She needed to tell Harry sooner than later.  But not here.  Once again reaching out to hold her hand, Harry stepped into her personal space.  And once again, Sansa gently removed her well-manicured hand from his and took two steps backward.

That action caused Harry’s eyes to widen slightly and his head to cock to the side.  “Sansa, what’s up?  You’ve been avoiding me all week.  Now you’re acting weird.  I came here to talk to you, and you’re acting like I’m bothering you.”

“Not here,” she whispered as she swallowed hard, realizing that a few of the women working in the pantry were glancing their way.

“What do you mean ‘not here?’  Why not?” he pressed.  As he finished his question, Harry reached out to touch Sansa’s hair, but before he could make contact, she abruptly jerked away from him.

“Not. _Here,”_ she hissed.  Her eyes quickly scanned the room.  Most of the volunteers who were present were now looking at the two of them.

Harry’s smile and politeness all but evaporated upon hearing the tone in her voice.  Through gritted teeth, he leaned close to Sansa, grabbing her upper arm firmly but outwardly appearing gentle, “I’m not leaving here until you talk to me, do you understand?”

Sansa could feel her pulse racing and the blood pounding in her ears.  Not wanting to cause a scene, she braced herself for the inevitable.  “Fine,” she shot back at him in a hushed voice, “Let’s get this over with.”  Yanking her arm from his, without another word she began walking toward the exit.

“Sansa, is everything OK?” Jeyne asked her as she passed by her friend with Harry hot on her heels.  Not responding to Jeyne’s inquiry, Sansa shoved the door open, leading Harry down the short hallway and turning right to exit the parish hall.

Silently, she marched down the sidewalk, through the parking lot, and cut across the gardens that housed the shrine under the old elm tree as she made her way to the God’s Wood.  Built as a service project by a group of Eagle Scouts decades earlier, the God’s Wood was a beautiful, secluded area set aside for prayer.  Surrounded by giant landscaped hedges, enclosed in the area were four benches angled inside the quadrant, and in the center of the small area was a large, bronze statue of Jesus along with a man-made water fall that continuously flowed into a small pond.  This was a place that people came when they wanted to pray in solitude, to meditate and to find solace at the feet of the Father.  Sansa often came here after school or on weekends to pray for guidance.

As the young couple stood in silence, looking at one another in the seclusion of the God’s Wood, Sansa lowered her eyes, staring blindly at her ballet flats.  She really hated to hurt Harry, but damn her, it was time that she stopped pretending that she loved him.

“I’m sorry that I’ve not had this conversation with you sooner,” Sansa began, still not meeting his stare, “I should’ve talked to you about this months ago.”

“About what?” Harry huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

Raising her eyes to meet his, Sansa could see the anger simmering just below the surface of Harry’s outward display of self-control.  Although Sansa had seen glimmers of his temper throughout the duration of their relationship, seeing the vein in his forehead pulse and the firm way his jaw was set caused her to silently pray to the Almighty that her fears of what he might do when really good and hot were completely unfounded.

“I’m breaking up with you, Harry,” Sansa blurted out as she returned his stare.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, glaring at her through nothing more than hateful slits.  “You’re _what?_ ” he seethed in response to her declaration.

Swallowing hard, Sansa tried to appear unfazed by the bubbling rage simmering underneath the surface of his tense body language.  “I’m breaking up with you,” she repeated, willing herself to remain calm.  “I brought you here in private to tell you that I’m not in love with you.  I have tried, Harry, I really have.  But I can’t.  And I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

A full thirty seconds passed as Harry appeared to digest her words.  During that time, he didn’t move.  He didn’t flinch.  He just continued to stand there gawking at her with his arms still folded in front of him.  Sansa wondered if he had even heard her based on his total lack of reaction.

And then he spoke.  Yup, he had heard her.  And he definitely reacted.

“You’re _not_ breaking up with me,” Harry snarled through clenched teeth, “That’s _not_ how this works, sweetheart.”

 _Just walk out now,_ Sansa told herself.  She wanted to haul ass out of the God’s Wood immediately.  Harry was not listening to her, and as he glared at her, Sansa wanted to give herself an enormous face-palm for being stupid enough to think that coming all the way out here to the God’s Wood for privacy was a good plan.  Steeling her nerves, she forced herself to continue.

“I’m a grown woman,” Sansa replied coolly as her eyes darted involuntarily toward the path leading out of the God’s Wood, “I am not a child, and you can’t just demand that I stay with you if I don’t want to.  I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, Harry, but it’s over between us.”

Sansa turned to leave the scene that was escalating rapidly, but before she could take two steps, Harry stepped forward, seizing her by her upper arm and squeezing it tightly with his large hand.

“No, Sansa,” Harry said as his lips curved into a hateful grin, “Women don’t break up with me.  I’m the one who decides when that happens.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in shock at both his words and his actions.  Caught completely off-guard, she froze in place.  Her heart rate shot through the roof as Harry’s narrowed eyes bored holes into her.

“Let go of me.  Right now!” she demanded forcefully, praying that Harry would come to his senses and act rationally.  Her prayer fell on deaf ears.  Without warning, he pulled her flush with his body, kissing her roughly against her will.  Struggling to push him off her, Sansa felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins.  Harry prided himself on his appearance, and he took extraordinarily good care of his physique.  He was strong.  Way too strong for Sansa to fight if he was hell-bent on doing something stupid tonight.

“You’re mine, Sansa,” Harry whispered as he broke the kiss while clinging to Sansa’s arm, “We’re meant to be together, don’t you see?”

“No, Harry!” Sansa shouted, looking him directly in the eyes, “Can’t you hear?  I don’t want you!  Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake of my life!”  She finally managed to yank her arm free from his grasp and began to back up slowly, now reeling at how quickly his demeanor had changed.

“A mistake?” Harry chuckled darkly, stalking toward her until her legs bumped into one of the benches, “You didn’t seem to think I was a mistake when I had you moaning like a whore - ”

The sound of Sansa’s right hand making contact with Harry’s left cheek echoed throughout the secluded darkness of the God’s Wood.  “Go to hell!” she screamed at Harry as his hand moved to rub his reddened face.

Before Sansa could react, Harry lunged forward, grabbing her by both of her upper arms.  “You have quite a mouth on you, you know that?” he laughed as he watched her struggle to free herself from his grasp.  “Maybe I should put that mouth of yours to better use.”  Sansa felt like her head was spinning at the implication behind Harry’s threat.  He tried to capture her lips in a kiss once again, but Sansa twisted wildly to dodge his lips.

“Stop it!” she yelled as he tried yet again, this time successfully pressing his mouth to hers.  Sansa’s stomach churned.  The sunset now almost complete, she knew that in a matter of minutes they would be in almost complete darkness save any moonlight that appeared.  The volunteers were all gone by now, and no one would think it abnormal if her car and Harry’s car remained in the parking lot all alone.  She almost found it comical that most folks who had left the church tonight had probably assumed that the two of them were engaged in some rendezvous together since disappearing from the food pantry.  If she didn’t think fast, she would be at Harry’s mercy and involved in one rendezvous that she never wanted to experience.

And as Sansa asked God to help her, she was stunned to see what help He sent.

“Leave her alone!” a man’s voice growled from behind them.

Turning quickly to see the face of the man coming to her defense, Harry’s eyes went wide with shock.  “Father Jon?  What are you doing here?”

“I heard shouting, and I followed the voices,” Jon explained with a slight sneer, “And thanks be to God that I arrived when I did.”  He marched forward, standing mere inches from Harry.  “Let her go, Harry.  She asked you to stop.  You’re about to cross an extremely dangerous line.”

Without releasing his grip, Harry angled his body so he was now facing Jon directly, pulling Sansa along with him by her left arm as he tugged her closer to him.  “Sansa and I are just talking, that’s all.  You should probably turn around and head back to the rectory, Father Jon.”

Jon was no fool.  He knew exactly what Harry had planned to do to Sansa if he hadn’t arrived at the God’s Wood when he did.  Cloaking a threat in the form of a suggestion, Harry wasn’t really asking Jon to turn around and walk away right now, either.

“No, Harry, I’m not the one leaving.  You are.  And Sansa stays with me.”  Stepping even closer, Jon was less than three paces away from Harry.  Sansa could see how Jon’s dark brown eyes were narrowed tightly like he was trying to hold back rage.

“Jon, please,” Sansa whimpered, desperately wanting Jon to help her yet afraid of what might happen to him if he tried to stop Harry.

“What exactly do you think he’s going to do?” Harry huffed, shooting a glance toward Sansa then returning his posturing toward Jon’s direction, “Listen, Father Jon, I appreciate your concern, but  - ”

“I won’t ask again, Harry,” Jon growled, “Let her go and walk away or you’ll leave me no choice but to make you do just that.”

That little declaration actually caused Harry’s blond eyebrows to shoot up to his hairline.  “Wait, what?  Did you just say that you’re going to _make_ me leave?”

“You heard me,” Jon hissed.

Harry laughed loudly at Jon’s threat.  “You’re a priest, or did you forget that when you rode into the God’s Wood on your white horse?” he taunted.  With his nasty comment, Harry released Sansa, shoving her forward.  Losing her balance, Sansa fell to the ground, her denim-covered knees landing on the rough cobblestones that surrounded the fountain.

“Jon!” Sansa screamed as she scrambled to her feet.  Rushing forward, she threw her thin arms around him, the tears now breaking free and trickling down her cheeks.

“Don’t ever touch her again, do you hear me?” Jon bellowed while glaring at Harry, “You will _never_ lay a hand on her again!”

“What the hell…” Harry muttered as he looked from Jon to Sansa and back again.  They were holding each other like lovers, not like a priest and a parishioner.  The way that Jon brushed aside the stray pieces of her copper mane that had fallen into her eyes was a gesture far more intimate than a man of the cloth and one of his flock should share.  Suddenly, everything seemed quite clear.  “You...you two…”

At that moment, staring lovingly into Sansa’s eyes and having the unsaid emotions returned, Jon didn’t care if Harry saw him holding her in the God’s Wood.  “We two _what?_ ” Jon replied, not breaking his gaze at Sansa.

“You’re together, aren’t you?” Harry asked, shaking his head while chuckling out loud, “Now it all makes sense.”  Pointing to Sansa, Harry continued, “Don’t think I haven’t seen the way that you’ve shamelessly flirted with him for months now, Sansa.  I had no idea that you were actually capable of pulling it off, though.  I can’t believe it…you seduced the priest with your ‘good girl’ act, and he fell for it, just like I did.”

“That’s enough, Harry!” Jon shouted, releasing his hold of Sansa and taking a few steps forward.  Not wanting the situation to escalate further, she pulled Jon back to her, clinging to him by his suit jacket.  She was frightened at what might happen if he had a chance to lay his hands upon Harry.

Harry, however, didn’t pay Jon any attention, focusing his wrath upon the tall redhead.  “What will folks around here think, Sister Sansa?” Harry taunted, completely ignoring Jon’s rising ire, “What will everyone say when they hear how the pious Sansa Stark screwed the priest right behind her boyfriend’s back?”

“One more word out of you, Harry, and God as my witness -” Jon growled.

Chuckling darkly to himself as he started walking backwards toward the entrance to the God’s Wood, Harry gave Sansa a glimpse of his intentions to ruin her.  “Just wait until rest of the parish finds out how big of a slut you really are, sweetheart.”

Before Harry could react, Jon charged forward, taking a swing at Harry’s face.  As Jon’s fist made contact with Harry’s nose, the sound of crunching cartilage rang through the air.  Upon impact, Harry fell to the ground right on his ass.

“Jon, don’t!” Sansa screamed, flinging herself forward, grabbing on to Jon’s shoulders, holding him back from doing anything else to Harry.  Thankfully, Jon stopped his attack, instead turning to envelop her into a protective embrace.

“You hit me!” Harry yelled, clutching his face with both hands as the blood began to trickle through his fingertips, “You _hit_ me!  You can’t do that!  You’re a priest!”

“I’ll burn in hell before I ever let you touch her again, do you hear me?” Jon snarled as he held Sansa closely to him.  Dressed in his black suit and clerical collar, he absolutely no longer cared about what was proper or canonical when it came to protecting Sansa.

“You’ll pay for this!” Harry seethed, wagging his index finger on one hand at Jon while holding his nose with the other hand.  Turning to glare at Sansa, Harry issued a warning, “You’re going to regret this, Sansa.  I’ll make sure of that!”

Jon said nothing as Harry leapt to his feet, turning abruptly and running out of the God’s Wood.  He wanted to chase Harry down the wooded pathway that led from the God’s Wood to the church parking lot just to get another taste of that vile man’s flesh on his knuckles.  Instead of indulging his rage, he looked back to Sansa, whose worried countenance made him sigh heavily.  “Don’t worry, love,” he spoke softly, “I’m not afraid of him.”

“How in the world did you know where to find me?” she asked quietly, cocking her head to the side as she studied him through her lashes.

“I spent the afternoon brooding in my chambers at the rectory.  I’m quite proficient at brooding, by the way,” he joked with her, smirking as she grinned in response to his description of his time spent alone, “I avoided going to the food pantry tonight because I didn’t want to see you.  Not because I didn’t want to see you, that’s not what I mean.  I mean, I didn’t want to put myself in a position where I might do something rash in front of an audience.”

“Something rash?” she grinned, “Like punching a parishioner?”

“A parishioner who deserved that and a whole lot more,” Jon smiled in return.  “So, I finally manned up and went to the pantry to see if I could ask you to talk.  I wanted to apologize for so many things, Sansa.  I still do.  But then Jeyne told me you’d left with Harry.  She said you seemed upset.  I left the pantry and tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voice mail.  I gave up and started walking back to the rectory when I thought that I heard shouting from what sounded like the God’s Wood.  And the rest, well…you know happened after that.”

Sansa reached out to run her hands through Jon’s curls, which caused him to close his eyes for the briefest of moments as he leaned into her touch.  “Oh, Jon,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.   I never meant for any of this to happen.”  With that statement, Sansa tried to choke back the sobs that dared to escape, shaking vigorously as Jon held her against his muscular frame.

“Shh, don’t cry, Sansa,” Jon whispered as he pushed back a stray lock of her copper hair, “Let Harry judge us.  Let them all judge us.  God is merciful, and He knows what is in our hearts.”  As the words came out of his mouth, he placed his finger underneath Sansa’s chin, gently raising her head until she was looking into her eyes.

“But, Jon,” she sniffed, “Does it really matter what’s in our hearts?  You’re a priest.  We can never be together.  We both know that.”

“I love you, Sansa Stark,” he openly confessed to her, delighting in the way her sky-blue eyes widened at his admission, “And I have had a lifetime of trying to be something I’m not.  I promise you this:  I will never run away from you again.”  Closing the distance between them, Jon lightly pressed his lips to hers.  The contact of Sansa’s soft, eager lips on his own caused him to groan.  Without thinking, Jon pulled her flush with his body, holding her tightly by her narrow waist.  As Sansa moaned in appreciation, she parted her mouth slightly, welcoming Jon’s tongue to enter.  Reaching to his shoulders, she held on tightly, letting him explore her mouth, reveling in the delight of knowing that Jon actually felt the same way about her.

Cautiously his hands released her hips, sliding lower, cupping her by the ass and pulling her against his body.  She could feel his erection nudging her, pleading with her to do something about it.  When he leaned his head downward, nibbling along her long neck, Sansa arched her back, gripping his curls in sheer delight.

After what seemed like hours, Jon pulled back slowly, opening his eyes to see Sansa’s bright eyes beaming at him.

“Jon,” Sansa moaned, tracing her kiss-swollen lips with her tongue. She couldn’t believe what was happening.  “What are we going to do now?”

“Well, for starters, we’re going to get you back to your car,” Jon chuckled, quickly readjusting himself in his black dress slacks as he stole one final quick kiss before releasing Sansa from his grasp.

Sansa hated to break their embrace.  She wanted more.  So much more.  However, she wasn’t stupid.  She knew that right now, they had to be careful.  Even though Jon had declared his love for her, Sansa knew that they had to be cautious until they could figure out what to do next.  He _was_ still a priest, for Pete’s sake, and that meant…things were going to be exceedingly tricky and particularly messy once their little secret was revealed to the world.

While quitting the God’s Wood, Jon and Sansa walked side by side yet not touching or holding hands, even though they both yearned to do so.  They were now venturing out into the open.

 _Back to ‘Father Jon’ again,_ Sansa thought to herself.

“Sansa, humor me, would you?” Jon asked as they made their way through the parking lot toward her vehicle, “Grab whatever you need to stay overnight at a friend’s house and then head there instead of staying in your apartment.  I don’t trust Harry Hardyng right now, and quite frankly, I never have.”

“OK,” Sansa said as she nodded, “I will.”

“Good,” Jon continued, “I will head back to the rectory.  I need to talk to Sam.  He needs to know about what happened tonight.”  Jon could see the flush of crimson overtake Sansa’s cheeks.  “Don’t worry, Sansa.  Sam and I have known each other since 6th grade.  We’ve been through everything together.  I can trust him.  _We_ can trust him.”

“But what about Harry?” she asked, her eyes scissoring across Jon’s face, “He’s threatened to tell everyone that we’re lovers!”

Jon glanced at his watch.  “I’ll call the vicar general and tell him what happened here tonight.  I’ll tell him about me finding Harry mistreating you here at church and how I intervened.  I’ll probably get into some trouble for hitting Harry, but I should at least try to tell my side of the story before Harry starts dousing this place with gasoline and striking a match.”  Jon smiled broadly as he noticed how Sansa’s pale eyes were beginning to relax.  “Will you be alright?  Would it be too late if I call you after all of that is finished?”

“No, of course not,” Sansa grinned, her head swimming with the events that had unfolded tonight, “I…I’ll wait up for you as long as it takes.”

“You know I’d take you home if I could,” Jon muttered as he looked down at his shoes, “I just don’t know if left alone with you that I would - ”

“Please, don’t say it,” she giggled as they finally reached her vehicle, “I get it.” 

The parking lot appeared to be deserted. Standing together in a highly visible and public place, neither made a move no matter how alone they seemed at the present. Just in case, Jon reverted to his formal demeanor, bowing slightly toward Sansa as he cleared his throat. 

“Have a good evening, Sansa,” he said, punctuating his gesture with a quick wink. 

“And you as well, Father Jon,” she smiled, the heat radiating off her skin. 

With that good-bye, Jon turned on his heels and walked quickly toward the rectory.  Sansa stood frozen in place as she watched him finally disappear into the building.

“I love you too,” Sansa muttered as she finally opened her car door, jumping into the driver’s seat and slamming the keys into the ignition, desperate to get home, grab her overnight bag, and head to Margaery’s house to sort through what Jon’s declaration meant for the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this story is a slow burn...it's meant to be! Please hang in there with me if you can!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon talks openly to Father Sam about his feelings for Sansa and about what happened in the God's Wood. Having called the vicar general and Father Davos, Father Jon finally calls Sansa. Now preparing for bed, Father Jon attempts to say his evening prayers, yet he finds that his brain will not cooperate, which leads to him taking matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon can't seem to stop thinking about Sansa...just saying, folks...

_“I’m taking the internship, Jon,” Ygritte stated defiantly, looking him right in the eyes as they sat across from each other at one of the corner tables inside Hotpie’s, a quaint café right off the main road running in front of Redemptoris Mater Seminary, “I leave in a week.  You and I…we’re finished.”_

_“You’re what?” Jon asked, completely flummoxed by his girlfriend’s decision both to travel to Essos for a year to study ancient Dothraki art and sculpture as well as her decision to end their relationship.  “I thought we had decided that you were going to say no to the semester abroad, and I was going to speak to Father Davos after Mass on Sunday about me leaving seminary.”_

_“No, Jon,” Ygritte answered coolly, “You decided that for both of us.  I never actually agreed to that plan, remember?”_

_Jon ran his hands through his chin-length curls, trying desperately to keep in check his anger and his disappointment that was bubbling to the surface.  Unable to believe what he was hearing, he hung his head, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to breathe._

_He was in love.  Fiery and passionate, Ygritte had stolen his heart quickly when they had met by chance at the local gym nestled in between the seminary where he was a third-year student and Freefolk College, a small, liberal arts college where she was working on her Master’s in art.  Although he already possessed doubts about his ability to succeed as a priest when they had met, Ygritte sealed the deal for him.  Now that he was ready to walk away from everything that he had envisioned he would become just to be with her, she was walking away from him instead._

_“I…I don’t understand, Gritte.  We…you and I...”_

_“Don’t you see, Jon?” Ygritte asked as she reached across the table to hold Jon’s hand, “You and me…we’re just too different.  You were raised to believe in all of that hocus-pocus and otherworldly business.  I don’t.  Now you want to get married and have babies and live a quaint little utopian existence in the suburbs of Hardhome.  I want to study art and travel the world.  I’m not willing to exchange my dream for yours.”_

_“I never said that you had to give up your dreams, Ygritte!” Jon huffed loudly, quickly realizing that his volume was inappropriate for an indoor setting as several patrons of the restaurant turned to look at them.  Steadying himself as Ygritte retracted her hand from his, he continued almost in a whisper, “I can wait for you if that’s what you truly want.”_

_Ygritte shook her head silently, “I don’t want you to wait for me.  Look, I’m the first woman that you slept with, Jon.  You think that because we’ve been together for almost four months now, we’re somehow destined to spend the rest of our lives together.  I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment.  How can you?”_

_Jon felt his throat constrict as he watched Ygritte stand, tossing her napkin on the table.  “I know I love you, and I know you love me.  That’s how.”_

_“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” Ygritte replied as she yanked her purse from where it hung on the back of her chair, slinging it across her shoulder, “You know nothing about me at all.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Sitting in the rectory’s main living area that he shared with Sam, Jon felt relieved at finally having confessed his true feelings about Sansa to his best friend and fellow priest.  Silent as a statue the entire time that Jon had related the events as they had unfolded over the last 24 hours, Sam listened intently, nodding at times or scratching his thin, light brown beard as he absorbed the information.  As Jon finished telling Sam the details of his showdown in the God’s Wood with Harry, Sam leaned back against the floral-patterned couch, appearing to be as exhausted as if he had run a marathon.

“Merciful Mother on my soul,” Sam exhaled as he ran his hand over his beard, “I’ll be honest, Jon.  I had suspected that you had feelings for Sansa, but I am completely taken aback at how intense they truly are.”

“I can understand,” Jon agreed while mirroring Sam’s pose, flopping backward with his head resting on the top of the couch, “But I do love her, Sam, and she loves me.  She admitted it today, and so did I.”

“Wow…just, wow.  Does anyone else know about this?” Sam asked as he turned his head toward his long-time friend.

“Well, Father Davos has known about my feelings for Sansa for some time now.  And Harry, well, I guess that he knows now because I held Sansa in my arms after I had punched him in the nose tonight in the God’s Wood.”

“Really, Jon,” Sam groaned, rolling his light brown eyes in frustration, “You and that temper of yours!”

“Now, Sam,” Jon continued, “I had to step in and protect her.”

“I know,” Sam sighed, “You must protect your flock as any good shepherd should.  But let’s be honest, Jon.  You hit Harry because he is an ass who likes to run his mouth.  There is a difference.  And even if you were protecting Sansa, I’m quite certain that Bishop Thorne isn’t going to see it that way.  He’s had it in for you since you assumed command of the parish when Father Davos retired.  If Harry gets to him first, then Bishop Thorne will run you out on a rail.”

“I thought of that,” Jon said as he took a deep breath, “So, I already called the vicar general and told him about what happened tonight with Harry.  I also called Father Davos and spoke to him briefly.  I’m going to drive to his house tomorrow morning to make confession and seek guidance on what I need to do next.”

“You did?” Sam asked, his eyes alight with mischief, “You called old Father Aemon this late?”

“It’s not _that_ late,” Jon laughed, “Besides, Father Aemon is a night owl, even if he’s as old as Noah himself.  I was surprised that he was supportive of me standing up for Sansa like I did.  He did ask me to come see him in his office first thing tomorrow morning, though.”  Running his hand through his curls, Jon smiled at Sam, “And I do believe that Father Davos wanted to reach into the phone line and smack me, if he could have.”

Thinking about how gruff their former parish leader could be at times caused both Jon and Sam to chuckle.  “Remember that time Edd got caught smoking in the bathroom?” Sam asked through his laughter.

“Oh, man,” Jon smiled as he recalled the look of terror on Edd’s face when he had been personally escorted by Sister Mary Melisandre to Father Davos’s office, “Edd couldn’t sit down for a week after Father Davos had gotten a hold of him!”

As the two young priests’ laughter died down slowly, Jon scratched nervously behind his ear as he thought about what Father Davos might say tomorrow while Jon sought absolution in the privacy of his home.  Father Davos was an extremely intelligent, thoughtful man, but he was painfully direct.  Jon would know in an instant where he stood with his mentor the minute the words “I hit Harry” and “I felt up Sansa” came out of his mouth.

“Before I do anything else, though, I need to talk to Sansa,” Jon sighed, looking at Sam directly in the eyes, “I have to know how serious she is about us before I move forward.  You know as well as I do that once I admit my feelings to Father Aemon, I could face suspension pending a hearing, and then she could possibly face serious sanctions as well.”

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled, “You’ll only be suspended if you persist with this.  So, yeah, you’d better find out just where Sansa stands on the matter.”  Seeing the nervous look dance across Jon’s face, Sam reached out to grasp Jon’s shoulder, “Sansa isn’t Ygritte.  Ygritte never said that she loved you, Jon.  That relationship was completely one-sided.  If you would’ve walked away from seminary for her, it would have been in vain.”  Standing abruptly, Sam motioned for Jon to rise.  “Are you certain that this is what you truly want?  You want to pursue a relationship with Sansa?  You’re certain that you’re ready to walk away from the Church?”

Rising to his feet beside Sam, Jon couldn’t stop the extraordinarily wide grin that overtook his face at the thought of Sansa’s lips on his and how much he adored her, “Yes, Sam, I’m sure.”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Sam squeezed Jon’s shoulder as he smiled, “Then I support you, Jon.  As always.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Jon said, feeling slightly choked up as he embraced his best friend.

“Now go,” Sam barked, shooing Jon away as if he were an annoying toddler nipping at his heels, “Call her.  Work through whatever it is you need to work through tonight.”  As Jon laughed, walking toward the hallway leading to his chambers, Sam added, “And don’t forget to say your prayers, Jon.”

“I will and I won’t,” Jon grinned as he disappeared into his private quarters.  Finally able to divest himself of his clerical garb now that he was ensconced in his room, he rummaged through his dresser, finding an old, faded black t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms.  Grabbing his cell phone from the nightstand, Jon dialed Sansa’s number, desperate to hear her voice.

“Hey, Jon,” Sansa greeted him as she answered her cell phone on the second ring, “How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine,” he smiled, feeling the warmth spread through his chest at the sound of her sing-song voice, “And you?”

“I’m OK,” she replied, “I’m at my friend Margaery’s house.  I’m going to spend the night here.  I…I told her about what happened tonight…with Harry and with you.”

Jon could sense the hesitation in Sansa’s voice, “That’s perfectly alright.  Don’t fret about it.”  He waited briefly for Sansa to say something, but she didn’t speak.  Concerned that Sansa may be having second thoughts now that their secret was on the verge of being broadcast by Harry, Jon tried to ease her conscience, “Sansa, I’m not ashamed of what I did or how I feel about you.  Please don’t think that.”

Sansa sighed heavily, “Oh, Jon…I know you’re not ashamed.  But…I’m worried for you…and me, too.  Where do we go from here?”

Pausing to assess the words he should use, Jon took a deep breath as he began, “We go forward, if that’s what you truly want.  In doing so, though, you and I need to be completely honest with each other.  If you aren’t seriously considering the repercussions that we will face once our feelings for each other become public knowledge, then I beg you to think long and hard about that tonight before you give me an answer.”

For a brief moment, Jon held his breath as he waited for Sansa’s response.  She had told him that she loved him, and she had kissed him passionately.  That did not equal a life-long commitment, however, and frankly, Sansa may not want to deal with the consequences of falling in love with a priest once she had the opportunity to reflect upon her circumstances.  Better to know that now, Jon mused, then to watch her come to that realization after he had already admitted his feelings to his superiors.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Jon,” Sansa said, the sound of her melodic voice lifting Jon’s spirits, “We need to figure out what to do now that we know how we feel about each other.”

“I’m in love with you, Sansa Stark,” Jon began as a small smile snuck across his face, “I want to be with you, and I know what that means for me if you feel the same way.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.  And I feel the same way,” she replied, her voice slightly breathless, “I love you, and I want to be with you, too.  The job…my family…I won’t let anything stand in our way.  And I mean it.”

Hearing Sansa’s decree made him smile, “Well, then that settles it.  I have an appointment to talk to Father Aemon at the diocesan office tomorrow morning.  As soon as I’m finished, I’m driving over to Father Davos’s home to make confession and ask for guidance on how to handle all of this the right way.”

Sansa sighed at hearing Jon’s words, “Are you absolutely certain, Jon?”

“I’m absolutely certain,” he answered, reaching up to scratch his dark brown beard, “And it’s getting terribly late, and you have school to teach tomorrow.  Get some sleep.  I’ll come by the school to see you at the end of the day, God willing.  That is, if I’m not excommunicated on the spot tomorrow.”

“Jon!” Sansa admonished him with a slight giggle in her voice, “That’s not funny!”

“Then why are you laughing?” he challenged half-heartedly.  The sound of her sweet laughter made his heart soar.  Tomorrow he would have to face the consequences of his choices, both because of his temper when dealing with Harry and because of his desire to be with Sansa.  Knowing that Sansa was going to be by his side throughout the whole ordeal to come, though, made Jon feel like he could do anything.

“Good night, Jon,” Sansa replied, the merriment alight in her voice, “Sweet dreams.”

Unable to resist, Jon smirked as he snarked, “Oh, I’m quite certain I’ll have sweet dreams that involve you, milady.”

That admission caused Sansa to laugh hysterically.

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” Sansa teased, the innuendo thick in her voice.

“You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface,” Jon answered, finding himself growing aroused at the direction this conversation was headed.  He knew that his reply was highly inappropriate, even if Sansa would one day be his.  Willing himself to cease and desist, he crossed himself quickly, praying silently to get his act together so he didn’t drag Sansa into the gutter with him any further and faster than need be.

“I love you,” he added, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to keep himself from behaving or saying anything else out of line, “Please forgive me, Sansa.  That was most untoward.  Lord knows, I need to control myself when I’m with you.”

“I love you, too, Jon,” Sansa answered, the mischief alight in her voice, “And please don’t worry about what you say…or do…when it’s just you and me, OK?”

Jon felt his heartrate shoot through the roof.  “OK,” he agreed, grinning from ear to ear at the sudden change of direction in their relationship.

“Good-night, Jon,” Sansa all but whispered into the phone, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Me too, love,” Jon smiled, “Good-night.”

As he hung up the phone, Jon felt a strange mixture of both relief and fright.  Feeling like the proverbial dog that had caught the car, his mind was swimming with the details he must follow in order to notify his superiors of his budding relationship.  If Jon and Sansa wanted to try to stay in the Church subsequent to his declaration, they would have to painstakingly follow the necessary channels each and every agonizing step that he must make in order to cross the finish line.  If he wanted to have Sansa in his life in accordance with teachings of their faith, victory would be a terribly long, painful battle.  Yet, that was exactly what he wanted to do.  He was ready.  Jon knew that in his heart he desperately wanted to ask for a dispensation from his vow of celibacy, but he knew that he had to be patient.

But, as always, Jon was not a patient man.

No, this time, Jon would need to rally all of his strength to go through the proper protocol when revealing their secret to the world.  God willing, neither he nor the woman he loved would have to leave the Church completely to find happiness together.  Jon had thought long and hard about this possibility earlier today, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had thoughts like this.

With Ygritte, Jon was ready to abandon everything to be with her.  Impetuous and impatient, Jon had told Father Davos that he had fallen in love and wanted to leave the seminary.  Father Davos, however, was far from supportive.  In fact, he had warned Jon that he was being foolish, that he was giving up everything to pledge allegiance to a woman whom was not interested in a lifelong commitment.  Arguing otherwise, Jon had stood his ground in her defense.  He was devastated when Father Davos had turned out right.

This time…this was different.  He was not a young fool letting his emotions dictate his decisions.  What he felt for Sansa was _real_.  She loved him, and she had told him that she was in this thing for the long haul.  Although it was extremely premature to think such thoughts, if Jon and Sansa ever wanted to marry, they would have to wait for Jon to be laicized, and that dispensation could take years to be honored, if ever.  If they had children, they couldn’t have them baptized if they themselves weren’t in communion with the Church.

For the briefest of moments, Jon wondered what his life would be like a year from now.  Would he and Sansa marry one day?  Would he have the chance to be a father?  Could Sansa’s family come to accept their relationship, or would they disown her and hate him?  What would the community of their parish think once their secret became public knowledge?

Laying back on his bed, resting his head in the palms of his hands, Jon sighed deeply.  He knew he was getting way ahead of himself, as always, but if he faced suspension for simply telling Father Aemon about his feelings for Sansa, then Jon knew in his heart that he’d better be damn sure about what he wanted.  And Jon wanted to be with Sansa.

With Harry’s threat hanging around his neck like an albatross, Jon also knew that sitting back on his laurels would most likely result in scandal.  If it only meant his demise, then Jon would be perfectly content to wait it out and take his time to ensure he knew exactly what steps he should take.  With Sansa’s reputation on the line, however, Jon wasn’t willing to wait.  He was not about to sneak around with her, miring her reputation in the process.  No, he would take the bull by the horns, and if push came to shove with that hateful man she had called her boyfriend, then Jon was ready to ensure that he was the one who took the hit.  He would not let Harry destroy Sansa as Harry so boldly warned while in the God’s Wood.  As he had vowed before Sansa in the God’s Wood, Jon would burn in hell before he let her suffer for something that he had willfully chosen to do.

Closing his eyes, too exhausted to rise and say the evening compline in its entirety, Jon decided to say his prayers quickly, fully aware that he needed his rest tonight so he would be able to keep his wits about him tomorrow.  Saying his evening prayers softly to himself, he found his normal evening routine interrupted by the vision of Sansa’s ample breasts stuffed into that infernally tight little tank top that he had the privilege to view earlier in the day.  Shaking his head to right his thoughts, Jon once again tried to say his evening prayers, but once again, his thoughts dissolved into a lust-filled haze as he remembered how wonderful Sansa’s lips felt pressed firmly against his.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name,” Jon huffed, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, making one last valiant attempt to finish an abbreviated compline, “Thy kingdom come…”

And then the sound of Sansa’s moan when he ground his erection into her stomach began echoing in the darkest chambers of his brain.

While the words of his prayer faded from his tongue, Jon’s right hand slid down his taut stomach, pulling his faded black t-shirt up slightly before slipping under the elastic waist band of his black plaid pajama pants.  Wrapped tightly around his already half-hard cock, Jon’s hand began to pull and tug slowly at his engorged member.

“Oh, Sansa…” Jon groaned in a hushed voice as he swiped his thumb along the head, gathering the moisture and using it to make it easier for him to slide his hand along the length of his stiff shaft.  Spreading his legs a little wider as he began pumping in earnest, Jon quickly used his left hand to shove his pajama pants down his hips.  Imagining how glorious it would feel to have Sansa take him into her warm, wet mouth, he had to bite his bottom lip hard to keep his moans stifled.

Although Jon hated to give in to his passions so easily, he knew the battle was lost the moment he thought of Sansa.  Like a drowning man gasping for air as he made one last attempt to rise above the water, Jon gave into the temptation.  He allowed himself to fall into the depths of the sweet, sweet darkness, no longer able to fight his desire any longer.  Overcome with the sensations of pleasure overtaking his body, Jon panted and writhed on his bed, muttering an inaudible curse as he came fast and hard into his hand.

Riding out the shockwave of his release, Jon continued to hold his limp cock in his right hand, unable to move momentarily as he slowly came to his senses.  When he opened his eyes, he saw his stomach covered in his sticky seed.  Groaning as he rolled toward his nightstand, Jon grabbed a few tissues from the box to clean himself up enough so he could make it to the bathroom.  The evidence of his sin now neatly erased, he stood slowly, collecting his wits before stumbling to his bathroom to dispose of the evidence and to properly wash himself.  After finishing his night time routine, Jon came out of his bathroom, looking long and hard at both the crucifix on his wall and his clerical vestments he had removed earlier and hung on the back of his bedroom door.

Sighing deeply, Jon realized that although in the eyes of the Church he had just committed a grave sin, he couldn’t bring himself to say a prayer of contrition.  In fact, he felt downright glorious at the moment.

 _Sometimes there is no happy choice,_ he thought to himself _, Only one less grievous than the others._ Crawling into bed, Jon reached over to turn off the small silver lamp on his nightstand.  Enveloped by the darkness of his bedroom, he threw his arm over his eyes as slivers of moonlight wafted in through the slats of his wooden blinds.  As Jon closed his dark eyes, he drifted off to sleep with a slight smile on his face as he dreamed of a day when he could hold Sansa once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be a fly on the wall during Father Jon's confession...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying hard to be patient as she waits for Father Jon to call her after his meetings with both the vicar general and his mentor, Sansa prepares to start her day at Our Lady Of the Wall. However, she experiences a horrific shock once she enters the school and her classroom. Will Sansa lose her cool and start to doubt her ability to handle budding relationship with her parish priest?

_Daddy, why can’t priests get married?” Sansa asked her father as he sat snuggled beside her on her twin bed while tucking her in for the night._

_“Well, darling, it’s complicated,” Ned smiled down at his nine-year old girl, “But the short answer is, priests and nuns don’t marry so they can devote their lives to God and His Church.”_

_“But I want to marry Father Jory when I grow up!” Sansa whined, “Does that mean I can’t?”_

_“Ew, gross!” groaned her younger sister, Arya, as she buried herself under the covers of her twin bed situated directly across the room that she and Sansa shared._

_“Be quiet, Arya!” Sansa huffed, “Not all girls want to be secret spy assassins like you!”_

_Ned chuckled deeply at his young daughter’s innocence, “Sweetheart, Father Jory is a wonderful man.  He’s dedicated to the Church and to those of us in the parish.  But even if he could get married, he’s too old for you.”  Ned leaned down to place a light kiss on Sansa’s forehead as he rose from his spot beside her, “And now you, young lady, need to go to sleep.  You have school tomorrow.”  Walking over to Arya, Ned gently pulled her comforter down enough to plant a kiss on the top of her dark brown hair, “Same for you, little miss.  Time for bed.”_

_“Night-Night, Daddy,” Arya giggled as Ned tickled her right under her chin._

_“Good-night,” Sansa called out as their father strolled to their bedroom door, turning to smile at them as he reached for the light._

_“Good-night, ladies,” Ned grinned, raising his hand to make the sign of the cross,_ _“_ _May almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, bless you my children for time and eternity, and may this blessing remain forever with you.”_

_As Ned switched off the light and closed the door, the room faded into the darkness of the night.  Confused and upset, Sansa stared blankly at the bedroom ceiling decorated with hundreds of stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars.  Father Jory was a compassionate, kind, and patient man.  He cared deeply about the well-being of the parishioners of Winterfell, and he always put the needs of others before his own.  Father Jory was also handsome and very smart.  To Sansa, he seemed like the perfect man, possessing all of the traits that her mother had told her that she should look for in a future husband one day when she was a grown woman._

_“Sansa, you still awake?” Arya whispered as she rolled over toward her older sister’s bed._

_“Yeah, why?” Sansa replied softly._

_“Are you serious?  You really want to marry Father Jory?” Arya asked quietly, propping herself up with one hand resting under her head._

_“Yeah, I would if I Daddy would let me,” Sansa answered in a hushed voice, mirroring her sister’s pose, “It’s not fair!  I just don’t see why a priest can’t get married.”_

_“I don’t know,” Arya pondered, “Maybe if they get married, they won’t pay attention to the rest of us.”_

_“Well, I think it’s a stupid rule,” Sansa complained bitterly, flopping back onto her pillow._

_“Yeah, me too,” Arya agreed, “And I don’t even want to get married.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Pulling into the parking lot of Our Lady of the Wall, Sansa steadied herself as she prayed to God to have mercy on her as she thought about Father Jory and what had become of him, asking for God to help guide her thoughts and actions today.  As she pulled into her space, she glanced at her watch.  Right about now, Jon would be in his meeting with Father Aemon, and then if all went well there, he would be heading over to Father Davos’s house to discuss the burgeoning relationship between the two of them.  Even though Sansa was extraordinarily excited to know that Jon’s feelings were just as intense as her own, she couldn’t help but be nervous at the idea that by the end of the day, their secret love would at least be known to a few people.

Last night at Margaery’s apartment, Sansa spilled her guts to her former college roommate and best friend.  Margaery already knew of Sansa’s growing romantic notions about Father Jon, so when she told Margaery what had happened both in her apartment earlier in the day and then in the God’s Wood, Margaery wasn’t the least bit surprised.  Having never been raised in any faith, Margaery was not a religious person at all, and although she did not fully understand the ramifications of Jon’s open declaration, she was smart enough to know that Sansa was about to embark upon one hell of a wild ride with both her church and with her family once her relationship with Jon was out in the open.  Margaery supported Sansa’s decision to follow her heart wherever it leaded her, whether it led her to a priest’s arms or not.

Exiting her Honda and walking toward the school building, Sansa could feel the cheesy smile overtake her once again as she thought about Jon.  She had never dreamed that falling in love with the young priest would lead to this.  He was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that they could be together, even at the cost of his choice of vocation.  In her heart, Sansa knew that once their feelings became public knowledge, she would most likely be asked to resign her position at the school.  Just how many good Catholic parents would want their 6th graders educated by a young woman who decided to fall in love with a priest, anyway?

And then she would have to tell her parents.

Ned and Catelyn were devout followers of the faith.  They would be crushed once they learned that their eldest daughter in whom they had such high hopes had willingly walked away from her future to get involved with a man of the cloth.  Sansa was the golden child.  She was the one who was supposed to bring honor and glory to the family, considering the choices the rest of her siblings had made about their Catholic faith.

Just last year, Robb had chosen to marry Talisa, a young Protestant woman whom he had met while interning at their Uncle Brynden’s marketing firm two summers ago.  Bran had opted to leave the Church to seek enlightenment at a Buddhist temple once he had started college.  Rickon had declared himself an agnostic after Christmas Mass just last year, much to the horror of their parents.  And against her parents’ wishes, Arya dropped out of the Church last spring when she moved in with Jaqen, a man 15 years her senior, a self-professed atheist whom she had met several months earlier when he had taught her in a martial arts class at the local community center.

Sansa was the last great hope.  Her parents clung to the belief that through Sansa, at least one of their children would stay true to the teachings of their faith.  For years, she attended Mass, participated in the youth ministry, and remained pure.  Hating to let them down, Sansa never wanted to rock the boat and buck the system, even at the cost of her true feelings about her faith or what she wanted out of life.  As much as she didn’t want to let her parents down with her decision to pursue a relationship with Jon, the fact of the matter remained that she was in love.  In love with a priest.

Confident with her decision to pursue Jon, Sansa pushed open the main door to the school, walking toward the office to check her inbox before heading toward the hallway that lead to the east wing of the building where her classroom was.  As she approached, she quickly noticed the glances and stares she was receiving from the handful of fellow teachers milling about the office.  She smiled and nodded toward them, but they simply looked away or moved to leave the office without acknowledging her.

 _What is wrong with you people?_ Sansa wondered to herself as she reached the massive slotted box hanging on the wall by the water cooler.  Ducking slightly to see if she had any messages waiting in her cubby, she grabbed the handful of papers.  When she turned around to leave the office, she saw Jeyne rushing toward her.

“Sansa!” Jeyne shouted in a whisper, “You have to come with me.  Now!”  She lunged for Sansa’s upper arm, pulling her with her as she led Sansa toward the exit.

“Jeyne?” Sansa asked as her ginger eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, “What’s the matter with you?  Where are we headed?”

“To your classroom,” Jeyne replied in a hushed voice, “Hurry!”

For a brief moment, Sansa wondered if Jeyne was cracking up.  As they exited the office, Jeyne still tugging her along by the arm, Sansa realized that all of the staff, both clerical and layman alike, were parting an enormous pathway for her as if she were Moses waving his staff before the Red Sea.

“Jeyne, why is everyone staring at me like I have two heads?” Sansa asked quietly, the thumping in her chest increasing rapidly as Jeyne led her down the long corridor leading to the east wing of the building.

“Someone got into your classroom either last night or early this morning,” Jeyne replied as the finally approached the main entrance to the east wing.

“What does that mean?” Sansa asked, growing increasingly nervous.  She could see the panic in her friend’s brown eyes. 

“Sansa, just…just look,” Jeyne answered as they arrived at Sansa’s classroom.  When the two young women breeched the doorway, Sansa immediately noticed Mother Superior Mary Melisandre sitting in her desk chair.  The good sister’s face was stern as she stared at the white board before looking directly at Sansa with a cold, aloof expression.  Father Sam was there, too, standing just to the left of the mother superior.  Nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Father Sam was visibly uneasy with whatever was occurring in Sansa’s classroom.

“Jeyne, would you please just tell…me…” Sansa demanded, the words dying on her lips as she followed the trail leading to the white board that Mother Superior Mary Melisandre’s eyes were making once again.  Scrawled in blood-red paint was one simple five-letter word written in huge, capital letters:

 _WHORE_.

As Sansa’s bright blue eyes knifed across that one word, her knees buckled.  Catching herself on Jeyne’s forearm, Sansa steadied herself.

“Sansa, please sit,” Jeyne pled, supporting Sansa’s weight long enough to get her friend to the closest student desk and chair.

“I…I don’t understand…” Sansa tried to speak as she closed her eyes, desperately trying to choke down the burgeoning lump in her throat.

“Miss Stark,” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre began softly as she waved her hand toward Sansa, beckoning her to sit in a student desk chair, “Miss Poole discovered this little message displayed on your white board this morning when she came by to see if you had arrived for work already.  She immediately reported the matter to me, and I, of course, notified the church office.”  The mother superior shot Father Sam a glance, causing him to shoot a quick look a Sansa before staring once again at this black dress shoes.

Sansa couldn’t speak.  She couldn’t look away from the word defacing her classroom and declaring her invented public shame.

_WHORE._

“Sansa,” Father Sam began as his eyes lifted, “I mean, Miss Stark…someone had to have done this late last night.  So far, we have no witnesses as to who might have done such a…such a horrible thing.”

“I see,” Sansa finally muttered.  She didn’t need to interview witnesses or seek leads.  She knew who was responsible for this.

“Miss Stark,” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre interrupted, “Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?  Can you think of anyone who would want to humiliate you like this?”

Quickly looking around the classroom, Sansa felt nauseous.  The look of pity on Jeyne’s face, coupled with the embarrassed look on Sam’s face and the irritated look on Mother Superior Mary Melisandre’s face was too much to bear.  Sansa knew that Jon had talked to Sam last night, so she could only imagine what Sam probably was thinking of her at this moment.

_Harry…that no-good, lying, hateful sonofabitch!  He did this.  Or he got one of his cronies to do it, more likely._

“No, ma’am,” Sansa lied, biting the inside of her cheek to stifle any attempt to change her story, “I don’t.”  With that false statement, she could tell out of the corner of her eyes that Sam’s mouth had fallen open in surprise.

“You’re certain?” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre pushed, her eyes narrowing as she studied Sansa like she was on trial for her life, “You have no suggestions?  Not even a student whom you’ve corrected recently?”

“No, ma’am,” Sansa replied, “There are no students that I can think of who would be capable of something like this.”

“I’ve been around a _very_ long time, Miss Stark,” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre smirked, “And I can say with the utmost certainty that this little prank here is nothing new to me.  Frankly, our school was due such an event, seeing how it’s been a while now since a student here on campus felt the urge to show their bottom to the rest of their peers.”  The good sister rose from her seated position, slowly walking around the desk to stand directly before Sansa, “With that being said, I do _not_ ascribe to the notion that ‘kids will be kids’ and all of that ridiculous, modern pop psychology.  I will not allow such actions to go unpunished.  This is an institution of higher learning attached to the House of God.  You can rest assured, Miss Stark, that I will find out who did this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sansa answered, a shiver running up and down her entire form.  Mother Superior Mary Melisandre, who was old enough to be Sansa’s mother, still possessed a youthful, almost ageless quality about her features.  She was still a beauty, but something about the good sister’s intensity made Sansa uneasy.

“Well, we can’t allow you to conduct class in a room that has been tainted like this,” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre sighed deeply, waving her right hand wildly in the air before stuffing both hands into the small slash pockets of her habit, “Miss Stark, you must hold your morning classes today in the cafeteria until the maintenance crew can remove the…remark…from your white board.  God willing, you will be back in your classroom by lunch.”

“Yes, of course,” Sansa nodded blindly, not truly listening to the good sister’s words.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeyne whispered as she bent down to pat Sansa’s back.

“Miss Stark,” Father Sam continued, “Will you be alright?”

“Thank you, Father Sam,” Sansa finally spoke, sniffling slightly as she fought to control her emotions and appear completely unfazed, “I’m fine.  It was probably some teen who thought that they could get classes cancelled today.  I am pleased to know that classes will continue, regardless of what happened in here.”

“Keep the door closed, Miss Stark,” Mother Superior Mary Melisandre said as she glided toward the door, “Your students will be redirected to the cafeteria.  Meet them there shortly.”  The good sister turned toward Father Sam, shooting him a look that tacitly told him to follow her toute de suite.  As Mother Superior Mary Melisandre walked briskly out of Sansa’s classroom, Father Sam hustled to keep up with her, glancing briefly at Sansa right before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.  Left alone with Jeyne, Sansa’s resolve to not break down broke.

“Mercy, Sansa,” Jeyne said as she darted to Sansa’s desk, grabbing a handful of tissues.  She then yanked another student’s chair beside Sansa, sitting down close to her and reaching out to slowly rub small circles on Sansa’s back, “I don’t know what to say.  This is just awful!”

Lifting her head, Sansa forced herself to smile weakly as she wiped her tears on the tissue Jeyne handed her.  One more quick glance at the white board made Sansa’s stomach lurch.  Not even 24 hours after openly declaring her love for Jon, she was already a pariah in the making.  _God help me,_ Sansa sighed, _What will it be like for Jon when word about us gets out?_

Desperately wanting to change the subject and to get the hell out of the classroom, Sansa stood swiftly, “I want to get out of here, Jeyne.  Please…can we talk about this later?”

“Of course, Sansa!” Jeyne replied, jumping to her feet and walking out of the classroom toward the main entrance to the school, “I’m here for you anytime.”

“Thanks, Jeyne,” Sansa forced herself to smile.

When the two women reached the cafeteria, Jeyne threw her arms around Sansa, pulling her into a tight embrace, “Sansa, I have to get to my class before the high schoolers decide to lead a mutiny today.  See you in a bit, OK?”

“Sure, OK,” Sansa nodded as Jeyne waved while walking toward the west corridor of the school building.  Now left alone, Sansa’s head turned to see both teacher and student alike looking at her.  Looking at her in a way that made her feel dirty and sinful.

Dashing hurriedly toward the ladies’ bathroom, Sansa shoved the main door open, rushing quickly into a stall.  Leaning back against the closed door, she began to cry.  Partly because she was sad, partly because she was embarrassed, but mostly because she was damn good and angry.  She wanted Harry to pay for what he had done, but she was coming up dry as to how she could prove the parish’s golden boy was a louse.

Grabbing her cell phone out of her purse that was still draped across her shoulder, she feverishly tapped out a text message to Jon:

_Sansa:  I hope that your meeting is going well.  Please call me when you have time.  I miss you._

She truly wished that she could talk to him right now, but Sansa knew that he most likely was still in is meeting with Father Aemon over at the diocesan offices.  After hitting send, she almost shoved her phone back into her purse when she felt her phone buzz.  Surprised that Jon must have seen her message and replied so fast, she quickly tapped on the screen.

The message was not from Jon.  Sansa’s pale blue eyes widened in horror at the image before her.

The picture showed Jon and Sansa in all their lustful glory, engaged in their extremely sensual lip-lock while supposedly hidden in the seclusion of the God’s Wood last night.  Horrified that their private moment had been captured with neither their knowledge nor their consent, Sansa’s hand jumped to her mouth, muting the shocked gasp that dared to echo throughout the ladies’ room.

Harry must have doubled-back after fleeing the scene when Jon had punched him.  He must have been eavesdropping the entire time she had spoken to Jon.  _Dear Lord, what is Harry going to do?  Who else has he sent that photo to?_

Suddenly her cell phone chimed, telling her she had an incoming message:

_Harry:  Wake up, Sansa.  He’s a priest!  Do you really think you’re going to ride off into the sunset together?  He’ll be defrocked, kicked out of the Church, and made an outcast.  Do you really want that for him?  Do you really want to destroy him with your selfishness?_

Reading Harry’s message felt like a sucker punch to the solar plexus.  She couldn’t breathe.  Clutching her phone in one hand, Sansa sat on the edge of the toilet in the stall in which she was still hiding from the world.  The blood in her ears was pounding so loudly, she felt like an army was marching inside her brain.

What if Harry was right?  Jon was a man of God, a clergyman, a priest who had made his vows and was now willing to break them for her.  _For her_.  She knew that she had flirted shamelessly with Jon, and she had dated another man almost the entire time while doing so.  Maybe if she had controlled her lustful urges, Jon would have resisted her temptations and would have remained faithful to the Church.  Although she had never spoken a word to him until yesterday about her true feelings, Sansa had done plenty to let Jon know that she was interested.  The looks…the incidental touches…all of the innuendos…Jon may be a priest, but he _is_ still a man.  A man who knew that she was hot for him…oh, sweet Mother of God…

Sansa had led Jon astray.  She was leading him down the path of self-destruction, not unlike Eve had done to Adam.  And now, he was going to pay dearly for her lust-filled fantasy.

Glancing at her watch, she cursed under her breath.  She was about to be late for class.  Rushing out of the stall, Sansa burst out of the bathroom, almost running over a middle school girl in the process.  As she apologized profusely, Sansa hurried down the hall toward the cafeteria.  Then her cell phone began buzzing in her purse.  Almost too afraid to look to see who it was, Sansa stopped just outside the cafeteria.  Taking a quick survey of the situation, she slowly pulled her phone out, swiping the screen to see who it was.

_Jon:  Just finished with Father Aemon.  Went well.  Better than I could’ve hoped.  On my way to see Father Davos.  Will call you when I leave his house.  Love you._

Sansa’s heart sank.  She wanted to be happy…but now, after what Harry said, she felt tremendously guilty.  Jon was about to tank his entire career over her.  Was she being selfish, like Harry had said?  Should she stop it now, and save Jon from certain scandal?

Before she could reply, the buzzer signaling the beginning of first period classes rang loudly in the halls.  Closing her eyes, Sansa prayed silently to herself:

_Grant that in all things, great and small, today and all the days of my life, I may do whatever You may desire of me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay strong, Sansa! Don't let that idiot, Harry, get to you! Right, folks?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon makes confession with his mentor, Father Davos, who counsels his surrogate son on what Father Jon will face should he pursue his feelings for Sansa. When Father Jon returns to his office at Our Lady of the Wall, he has a visitor waiting to speak with him, a handsome stranger who holds the key to a question that Father Jon has had for years: who is Father Jon's earthly father?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Father Jon won't actually find out who his birth father is by the completion of this chapter. Please don't bite my head off, OK? I needed to split this bad boy into two chapters since it was extremely long. Hey, at least you know the next chapter is ready to post soon, right?

_“Jon, I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Father Davos sighed, hanging his head in defeat after telling Jon about what had happened to his mother._

_“I…no, I don’t believe it,” Jon muttered as the shock of hearing that his beloved mum was dead.  “I just spoke to her three days ago.  She sounded perfectly fine!”_

_Father Davos scratched his graying whiskers with his hand, pursing his lips tightly as he tried to calculate how much he could reveal to Jon about his mother’s silent battle without breaking the sanctity of the confessional.  “Your mother didn’t want to burden you,” he began, “She knew that if you found out she was terminal, you would have withdrawn from seminary to rush to be by her side.  There was nothing you could have done, son.”_

_“How long?” Jon demanded, his voice shaking while trying to process the fact that his beloved mum had passed peacefully in her sleep last night.  The collection of inoperable tumors in her body had taken her from him, and she never told him once that she was sick.  “How long did she know?”_

_“Lyanna found out about four months ago,” Father Davos replied softly._

_“Four months?  And no one told me?” Jon murmured through gritted teeth, “I could have been there!  I could have been by her bedside, damn it all to hell!”  Bursting out of his seat on the brown leather couch in the main living area of the rectory, Jon covered his brown eyes with the heels of his hands._

_He felt nauseous.  The room was beginning to spin on its axis as he tried to process his raging anger.  His mum knew that she was dying, and instead of telling him, she had withheld the nature of her disease to protect him.  Jon felt the same confusion and bitterness that he had experienced when he was a teen on the night his mother had finally broken down and had told him about his birth father._

_“Please, Jon, calm down!” Father Davos cautioned, trying desperately to figure out how to make Jon understand his mother’s decision to keep him in the dark about her illness, “Lyanna was the strongest, bravest woman I’ve ever known.  She loved you with all of her heart and soul.  She wanted nothing more than to see you graduate in a few months, and if she couldn’t be there in body, she wanted to be there in spirit.  And if you’d known, you would have dropped out for sure.”  Finished making the sign of the cross at the thought of Lyanna’s memory, Father Davos firmly patted the empty spot on the couch beside him, tacitly commanding Jon to return to his seat.  “She refused to watch you throw your career away for something that was beyond your control.”_

_Obediently, Jon crumbled onto the couch as he sighed heavily in defeat.  His eyes were wet with tears.  His throat was burning, raw from him trying to suppress the scream he so desperately wanted to release.  His mother was dead.  Gone at forty-six.  She would never see him graduate from seminary.  She would not be there when he was ordained.  And the irony was, his mother hadn’t even really wanted him to be a priest in the first place._

_“Why?”  Jon began to sob mournfully, “Why her?  She did nothing to anyone.  She gave more of herself to that clinic and to the unwed mothers that walked through the doors than anyone else could have ever dreamed of doing.  Mum was always in Church.  Had me there, too, seven days a week most of the time.  She did everything by the book, Father Davos.  It’s just not fair!”_

_“Yes, your mother was an example to us all on how to live a pious life,” the elder man agreed as he nodded his head and smiled feebly in return._

_“Then why did God take her so suddenly?” Jon demanded, his body beginning to shake, “Why allow her to suffer?”_

_Gently reaching out to put his arm around Jon’s broad shoulders, Father Davos took a deep breath before he answered, “We neither know why God gives nor takes from our lives that which we hold most dear.  That is why we must have faith in the Father._ _Suffering is like an anvil on which we can be forged into more compassionate people.  When we suffer, we discover our own capacity for love.  A true silver lining in a dark cloud, if ever there was one, son.”_

_Jon reflected on his long-time mentor’s words, knowing that Father Davos was right.  But hearing it and understanding it didn’t mean that living it would be any easier._

_“I’ve lost my mother, and I’ll never know my birth father,” Jon grumbled, sniffing at the irony of Father Davos’s words, “I have no family.  I’m a true orphan now.”_

_“Whomever the man was that gave you life, Jon, is of no consequence in the grander scheme of things,” Father Davos replied, a terse smile on his face, “You know your Heavenly Father, and He is with you, even now as you grieve.  Find strength in Him.  Lean on Him, Jon.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Jon’s mother, Lyanna, had been a hard-working, fiercely protective woman who had raised him all alone without the support of his biological father.  When Lyanna had found herself carrying the child of a man whom wanted nothing to do with her, she found solace in the Church.  Father Davos, the good sisters of Our Lady of the Wall, and the entire parish accepted his young, unwed mother with open arms when she had showed up on the doorsteps of the Church with nothing more than the clothes on her back and in her suitcase.

Over the years, the Church had become Jon’s family.  Father Davos became a surrogate father to him, taking him in under his wing and making sure Jon had the best education that his mother could never have afforded on her own.  Several older ladies of the parish made sure that Jon never went hungry and made sure that he always had clean, decent clothes to wear.  The Church became for Jon a safe place, a sanctuary, a home-away-from-home.  It was his connection to the Church and the people of Hardhome that helped sway his decision to enter the priesthood.

As Jon matured into manhood, he struggled like all healthy young men with the call of the Church to remain chaste until marriage.  Although he found himself having to confess the act of self-love on a regular basis in his youth, Jon was able to find some measure of self-control once he entered college, thanks in part to his attendance of the youth ministry activities on campus.

Meeting Ygritte, however, ended that in one fell swoop.

After he had almost left seminary for a doomed relationship with Ygritte, Jon renewed his resolve to get his sinful act together.  Yet, having experienced the pleasures of a woman only increased his urges that much more.  Father Davos had been diligent in counseling Jon on how to remain celibate, offering both practical advice as a man in the same boat and absolution as his confessor.  Even though Jon had wrestled with his passions for years, he started to believe that finally, _finally_ , through prayer, fasting, exercise and regular confession, he was starting to figure out how to keep them in check.

And then Sansa moved to Hardhome.

Sitting before Father Davos in the privacy of his mentor’s living room, Jon first detailed his earlier meeting with Father Aemon.  The elderly priest, who was up for retirement almost two decade ago but loved his vocation so much that he refused to be put out to pasture, had listened in complete silence while Jon related the events of the previous night in the God’s Wood.  After Jon had told his story, Father Aemon had bluntly asked Jon if he was in love with the young lady whom he had so nobly rescued.

Floored by how easily Father Aemon had sniffed out the truth hidden within the often vague layers of Jon’s story, Jon simply nodded his head.  The old priest smiled slightly at the way Jon’s bearded cheeks flushed in embarrassment at having been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.  Leaning forward, his elbows resting on his desk, Father Aemon counseled Jon:

_“We’re all human.  Oh, we all do our duty when there’s no cost to it.  Honor comes easy then.  Yet, sooner or later in every man’s life there comes a day when it’s not easy.  A day when he must choose.  Love is the death of duty, Jon.   I will not tell you to stay or go.  You must make that choice yourself, and live with it for the rest of your days – as I have.”_

It turned out that Father Aemon granted Jon a week to decide if he was truly serious about pursuing a relationship with Sansa.  In that time, Jon was to figure out if he was prepared to abandon his vocation and to face the consequences of his decision to pursue a relationship that conflicted with his vows.  Father Aemon also warned Jon that he was to refrain from engaging in any behaviors that would cast a shadow upon the Church and its faithful during this week of self-reflection.  Thanking Father Aemon for his counsel and for his patience, Jon left, heading straight to Father Davos’s condo that he had purchased subsequent to his retirement.

After Jon had recounted his meeting with Father Aemon to Father Davos, his mentor had closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as he sighed heavily, muttering a silent prayer under his breath as he processed Jon’s story.  Jon knew that look.  That was the same look of displeasure that had washed over Father Davos’s face when Jon had told him that he wanted to leave the priesthood for Ygritte.

Without commenting on Jon’s story, Father Davos slowly opened his eyes, staring hard at the young man before him, asking only one simple question.  “Would you like to make confession now, Jon?” the older priest inquired.

“Yes, I would,” Jon replied earnestly, internally bracing himself for having to admit his lustful urges yet again.  The act of confession was both a painful and exhilarating event all at the same time.  Knowing that God forgave him for his transgressions brought him comfort, but due to the frequency and number of said transgressions, Jon couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever manage to get out of purgatory upon his death.  Rubbing his clammy hands on his thighs, Jon bowed his head as Father Davos draped his purple stole around his neck.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” Jon began as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, “It has been a week since my last confession.”

Father Davos remained silent, closing his eyes, bowing his head as he waited to hear Jon divulge his list of trespasses.

“I have had impure thoughts about Sansa.  I can’t actually recall how many times I’ve had those thoughts, but they are happening more and more frequently.”

“Daily?” Father Davos asked.

“Yes,” Jon agreed, “Multiple times a day.”

Father Davos cleared his throat.  “I see.  Go on.”

“I kissed Sansa.  On two different occasions.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And…I touched her breasts.”

Father Davos’s eyes shot open, narrowing just as suddenly, “And did she allow this?”

“Yes, she did,” Jon nodded rapidly, “It was completely consensual.”

“Well,” Father Davos coughed, his brown eyebrow raised as he glared at Jon, “I wasn’t expecting that one.”  Fiddling with the hem of his stole, Father Davos inhaled and exhaled deeply before continuing, “Go on, then.  What else?”

“I punched Harry Hardyng,” Jon continued, desperately trying to suppress the grin that dared to show itself on his handsome face, “I hit him because I was angry.  I wanted him to shut his mouth so bad that I lost my patience.”

“Dear me,” Father Davos sighed, “Is that all?”

“Uh, no,” Jon stated nervously as he fidgeted in his seat, “I engaged in self-love three times this week.”  This was always the hardest thing for Jon to confess.  He was almost twenty-eight years old; having to air his dirty laundry like this always made him feel like he was fourteen again, masturbating in the seclusion of his bedroom after school while his mom was at work or secretly jerking off in the shower.

Father Davos’s lips pursed together as he processed Jon’s transgressions.

“I was trying to say my evening prayers,” Jon continued, nervously scratching the back of his neck, “And all I could think about was how much that I wanted to kiss Sansa again.  I imagined seeing her naked, not just her breasts, but all of her.  Then I…”

“Yes, yes, I do believe I know the rest,” Father Davos huffed, flitting his hand in the air to get Jon to stop revealing too many details, “Is _that_ all, Jon?”

“I want to ask for a dispensation to be released from my vow of celibacy,” Jon added, raising his chin as he looked directly in the eyes of his surrogate father.

Father Davos exhaled sharply, “Jon…I’ll address that last one _after_ confession.”  Motioning for Jon to bow his head, he continued, “For your penance, say 10 Hail Marys and 10 Our Fathers.”

Jon immediately recited the Act of Contrition, and after it was completed, he couldn’t resist the dopey grin that overtook his face.  Even now, in the moment of asking for God’s forgiveness for his lustful urges, Jon found it hard not to think of Sansa.

Father Davos raised his hands in prayer, looking toward the heavens, completing Jon’s confession, “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” Jon replied.

“God had forgiven you for your sins,” Father Davos answered, “Go in peace.”

Jon smiled as Father Davos made the sign of the cross, “Thanks be to God.”

Father Davos rose abruptly from his seat on his brown leather couch, yanking his stole from his neck, folding it quickly and then placing it gently on the coffee table.  Sighing deeply as he looked at Jon, “I’ll step out so you can say your penance, son.  God have mercy on me, I believe I need a drink.”  With that parting salvo, Father Davos excused himself from his living room, walking toward his eat-in kitchen, “Back in ten.”

Jon immediately closed his eyes, taking his rosary out of his suit jacket pocket as he ticked through his prayers of penance.  Finished with his duty, Jon leaned back against the couch with his rosary still in his hands.  Looking at the black beads, toying slightly with the crucifix dangling from the end, Jon felt an overwhelming sense of peace.  Things were moving along just as he had hoped they would.  They were moving slowly, yes, but they were moving none the less.  In a week’s time, he would tell Father Aemon that he wanted to seek laicization from the Church.  Whether or not Father Davos was ready to hear the truth, the truth was simple:  Jon wanted to be released from his vows to be with the woman he loved.

As Father Davos returned to his living room carrying a small glass of Scotch in his hand, Jon laughed loudly, “So, it’s finally come to this, has it?  I’ve actually managed to drive you to drink in the middle of the day?”

Father Davos chuckled darkly as he took his seat beside Jon once again, “You know as well as I do that you’ve driven me to drink on many more occasions than today, boy.”  Watching Jon intently, Father Davos took one more swig from his glass before resting it on the end table beside him.  Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?  You _really_ intend to walk away from your vocation this time?”

Thinking about how to respond to the question, Jon turned in his seat to face Father Davos, draping his arm across the back edge of the couch, “When Ygritte came into my life, I was so caught up in the emotions I was feeling that I didn’t think things through.  I only had a year left of seminary.  I was going to be a priest soon.  I wanted to experience things before it was too late.  I thought that I loved her, but honestly, looking back with some time and distance, I think I merely confused the sex with love.”  Looking away wistfully, smiling to himself as he thought about Sansa standing in the God’s Wood, her flaming red hair lightly fluttering from the cool autumn breeze, Jon continued, “But what I feel for Sansa… _this_ is love.  I know it in my bones.  I’ve fallen in love with her, Father Davos.  I can’t go on like this forever.  I can’t keep pretending that I’m happy without her in my life.”

“Need I remind you that once you openly acknowledge this,” Father Davos warned, “There is no turning back.  Even if you recant and confess, your parish will never respect you nor want you as their priest again.  Your career will be dead in the water, regardless of whether you actually leave or not.  Especially if Bishop Thorne gets involved.”  Father Davos grabbed his glass of Scotch, downing the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp before setting it back down on the end table, “Are you certain that you are ready to throw away everything that you worked so hard to achieve?  Is this woman truly worth it, son?”

Jon bristled at that comment, “Yes, Father Davos, she is.  And I’m not truly throwing anything away if you stop to think about it.  I never should have become a priest in the first place.  You and I both know how ill-suited for this life I really am.”  Rising from his seat, Jon folded his arms in front of his chest, walking toward the large picture window facing the road in front of Father Davos’s condo, “I made a mistake.  A huge one.  I entered the priesthood against my mother’s wishes, if you recall.  She wanted me to do something else…anything else with my life.  Mum told me it would be a hard life giving up the love of a woman for my career.  And she was right.”

Father Davos laughed at Jon’s comments, “Yes, your mother, God rest her soul, was a devout woman, but she wanted grandchildren, I’m certain of that.”

Jon grinned at the thought of his mother, “She would have been the most loving, devoted grandmother on earth.”  Turning to face Father Davos, he added, “If God blesses me with children of my own one day, I know that mum willl smile down on them from Heaven.”

With that statement, Father Davos scratched his chin.  Studying Jon intently, the elder man cracked a tiny smile.  “Well, it sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind about the young lady in question.  And when a Snow makes up their mind, you can move a mountain easier than changing their opinion on the matter.”  Rising from his seat, Father Davos stood to face Jon, “Son, I have been honest with you these last several months while you’ve struggled with your demons.  Sansa Stark is a fantastic young woman.  She’s everything a young man would desire.  Mercy, she’s everything _any_ man would desire.  I understand, truly I do.  Remember, I was young once, too.”

“I know,” Jon nodded.

“Give yourself the week Father Aemon requested that you take to assess your true feelings.  Spend time with Sansa.  Take time getting to know her as a woman, not as your parishioner.  Make sure that this is what you _both_ want.  She needs to be on board with this just as much as you, Jon.  Sansa stands to lose her career here in Hardhome as well.  And the upheaval that all this mess will cause…are you _sure_ that this is what you truly want?”

Jon simply smiled, “I’m sure.”

“Well, then,” Father Davos continued, “Whatever the two of you do this week while exploring your feelings for one another, just make sure to keep it in your pants.”

“Father Davos!” Jon snorted, taken aback once again by his mentor’s absolute candor.

“I’ve always called a spade a spade, boy, and you ought to know that by now,” Father Davos smirked, “But I mean what I said.  All of it.  And ask Sam to step in while you take the week off.  Reflect upon what you really want.  Have these conversations with her.  Be realistic.  _Very_ realistic.  You only have one chance at life here on earth, Jon, but what you do here in this life, you _will_ answer for in the next.”

Embracing Jon in a tight hug before he could see it coming, Father Davos held Jon snug to his chest.  “I love you, son.  Go in peace.”

“And I love you too,” Jon sniffed as he gripped Father Davos as tightly as he could.  “I’m sorry that I failed you.  I wish that I didn’t have to let you down like this.”

“Good,” Father Davos bellowed in jest, whacking Jon on the back as they broke apart, “Now go.  Go fail again.  That is what man must do in this life.  Try and fail.  But pull yourself up through your faith in the Father.  He will not forsake you, Jon, even when you stumble.”

After leaving Father Davos’s home, Jon felt a tremendous sense of relief, like he could face anything thrown his way now that he had been candid with his mentor.  He had admitted to his surrogate father that he was in love and was prepared to move forward.  Father Davos was not pleased, but he was forgiving and understanding far more so than Jon would have ever imagined.  There was something rather comforting about having confessed all of his emotions and passions.

Stopping for gas at an enormous minimart and truck stop just a few miles from the church, Jon pulled his cell phone out of his breast pocket to send a text to Sansa.  Since she should still have at least two more classes today before she would be able to leave school, Jon opted to tap out a quick text in lieu of calling her.  When he slid his finger across the screen, he reread the message that Sansa had left him earlier in the morning while he had been in his meeting with Father Aemon.

_Sansa:  I hope that your meeting is going well.  Please call me when you have time.  I miss you._

Jon smiled at reading Sansa’s message again.  He quickly replied as soon as he had finished pumping gas and had hopped back into his truck.

_Jon:  Sorry it’s taken so long to update you, love.  Just left Father Davos’s home about 10 minutes ago.  Heading back to the office.  Call me after class, OK?_

Once Jon arrived at Our Lady of the Wall, he pulled into his parking space outside of the church office.  When he thought about speaking to Sansa in a few hours, Jon smiled as he thought about how much he wanted to hear Sansa’s voice.  He hadn’t actually heard her voice at all today, and come to think of it, there hadn’t been many days in the last few months where he and Sansa had not spoken at least once.

As Jon hopped out of his black truck, he caught sight of a brand new gold Lexus that he did not recognize parked in a visitor’s space outside of the church office.  Not that he knew the mode of transportation for every parishioner, student, or employee of the church and school, but this particular car was not only extremely flashy, it was seemingly out of place at such a conservative parish as Hardhome.  Ignoring whatever twinge of curiosity was piqued by the arrival of such a vehicle, Jon entered the building, walking down the corridor and directly toward his office.  When he approached, he could overhear Mrs. Mordane talking with a man whose voice Jon did not recognize.

“Oh, goodness me, you’re simply too much!” Mrs. Mordane tittered.  Jon couldn’t believe his ears.  Mrs. Mordane was stoic, stern, and stubborn.  She could send shivers down a grown man’s spine just with an eyebrow raised in question.  Yet, right now, she sounded like a silly schoolgirl laughing profusely at some joke the captain of the football team had just told that wasn’t even that funny.

“Mrs. Mordane, God as my witness, I speak the truth,” the man with the velvety voice replied, “This coffee is far superior to any cup I’ve sampled in ages.  You’re a barista-in-the-making, milady, I assure you.  If I were allowed to indulge, I’m quite certain that I’d consume far more of your brew than I should.”

 _Seriously?_ Jon sniffed as he finally entered the reception area in front of his office, _I’ve been drinking her coffee long enough to know that it’s the some of the worst stuff I’ve ever tasted.  Who is this guy, anyway?_

Upon entering his office, Jon received his answer.

Casually draped along the visitor’s chair in front of Mrs. Mordane’s desk sat a tall, well-built older man.  A man of the cloth, no less, and one that Jon had never seen.  The middle-aged priest was ruggedly handsome with slight crinkles by his jade-green eyes and a peppering of gray in his short, sandy blond hair.  This visiting priest’s suit of armor was the epitome of fashion, possibly even designer-label, which seemed just as out of place as the man’s expensive vehicle, especially since their black vestments and modes of transportation were supposed to be plain and simple. 

“Ah, you must be Father Jon Snow,” the older priest beamed as he rose to his feet.  Bending slightly in a formal bow, the older man returned to his full height, glancing at Mrs. Mordane, silently nudging her along to make the proper introductions.

Jon had known Mrs. Mordane since he could walk.  She was a fixture at the church, having worked as the head pastor’s secretary since back in the days of Father Davos’s tenure.  A firm, self-assured widow who wasn’t afraid to make her displeasure with a priest’s decisions known, she was not one to mince words or act like a subordinate.  Yet standing in the presence of this new face, Mrs. Mordane looked like she was as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo.

“Father Jon,” Mrs. Mordane began with a huge smile, the flush in her normally ruddy complexion blazing wildly, “May I introduce you to Father Jaime Lannister.”  Her eyes never left the visitor as she spoke.  Not once.

Smiling at Jon, the extremely attractive priest stuck out his well-manicured hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Father Jon.  I’ve heard many wonderful things about you.”

“Thank you, Father Jaime,” Jon replied, his dark eyebrows wrinkling slightly in confusion as he shook hands, “I’m sure the pleasure is all mine.”  Racking his brain at the speed of light, Jon was desperately trying to remember why this visiting clergyman’s name sounded familiar even though he had never met the man.  He was coming up dry.

“I do hope that you will forgive me for imposing on you without notice,” Father Jaime began, folding his hands primly in front of him, “But I fear that I am here on urgent business that was best handled in person.  Would you please allow me to speak with you in private?”

Before he replied, Jon looked toward Mrs. Mordane, fully expecting her to recite his schedule for the afternoon from memory, griping at Father Jaime for the complete inconvenience he was causing her right about now for butting into Jon’s day and for forcing her to juggle his sundry appointments.  Instead, Mrs. Mordane stood frozen like a statue, immobilized like some fangirl who was standing before her beloved rock star.

“Mrs. Mordane?” Jon asked impatiently, literally snapping his fingers to break the spell holding his administrative assistant frozen in place, “Could you please - ”

“Yes, of course, Father Jaime!” she gushed, completely ignoring Jon while she stared at the newcomer like a love-struck fool, “I’d be happy to reschedule Father Jon’s afternoon for you.  I will clear his calendar right now.”

_What in the name of the Holy Ghost…_

“Thank you, milady,” Father Jaime grinned, flashing his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth, “You’re a dear if you do.”  That little nugget of praise made Mrs. Mordane giggle.  A grown woman, a widow with no less with five grown children and twelve grandchildren, just giggled.

“Well, Father Jaime, if you please,” Jon mumbled, holding out his arm to welcome the visiting priest into his office, “Mrs. Mordane, if you would -”

“No worries at all, Father Jon,” she interrupted vigorously, pouncing on the office phone and grabbing Jon’s schedule off her desk, “I will make sure that you are not disturbed.”

“Uh…yes, thank you,” Father Jon drawled as he turned to enter his office and shut the door.  Father Jaime was already ensconced in the plush tan visitor’s chair closest to the window across from Jon’s desk.  The older priest looked as laid-back and comfortable in a stranger’s presence as if he’d known Jon for years.

“Do you know, I haven’t been to this parish in ages,” Father Jaime said as Jon rounded the corner of his desk to also be seated, “I think it’s been…eleven years?  Twelve, maybe?”

“I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t know,” Jon replied, narrowing his dark eyes slightly, studying Father Jaime as if he were under a microscope.  For some odd reason, Jon was certain that he had heard this man’s name mentioned at some point, but for the life of him, Jon couldn’t place when, where, or by whom.  And Jon was positive that if he had met Father Jaime prior to this afternoon, he would’ve remembered him.

“Well, you see, Casterly Rock is my home parish,” Father Jaime continued, crossing his legs and casually leaning back into his chair, “That’s quite a drive to make just for a pop in.  No, the last time that I visited your lovely parish was when Bishop Thorne was consecrated.”  Looking around Jon’s office with an air of indifference and slight amusement, Father Jaime appeared to be completely unimpressed.  “Such a quaint little parish you have here,” he added, smirking while he studied Jon’s name plate on his desk, squinting his eyes slightly before returning his gaze toward Jon, “And to be so young and already the man in charge…how blessed you are to have attained such a position so quickly in your career.”

“Yes, I am truly blessed,” Jon answered tersely, neither enjoying this smug man’s company nor his back-handed compliments.  Leaning back into his chair, trying with all of his might to appear aloof and unintimidated, he dove in head-first to the reason behind this older man’s visit.  “So, tell me, Father Jaime, what brings you back to Hardhome?  What urgent business do you have to discuss with me?”

The smile that Father Jaime had sported on his face since Jon had laid eyes on him slightly weakened.  As Father Jaime quickly glanced down to his lap, drumming his long fingers on the arm of the visitor’s chair, he cleared his throat before he returned his gaze to Jon’s puzzled brown eyes, “I’m here at the request of your father.  He asked me to speak with you, so…here I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first of a three-chapter arc pertaining to Father Jon's origins and how he will begin to process the new information. So, sit back and let the chips fall where they may, folks! Here we go!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jaime reveals to Father Jon the truth about his origins. Shocked, confused, and angry, Father Jon is overwhelmed by the information. Abandoning his duties at the Church while ambling about town, Father Jon tries to begin reconciling the fact that his mother, Lyanna, withheld key information about his birth father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on, folks - the ride ahead is about to get a little bumpy!

“What’s _got into you today?” Loras chuckled as he daintily spread his lunch out on the table before him that he had pulled from his rucksack, “You’re such a tease!  Father Varys was on a roll.  Why did you have to go and interrupt him?”_

_“Would you knock it off already?” Jon huffed, rolling his eyes as he unwrapped his sandwich, “You and your roommate over there are the biggest gossips here at seminary.  The last thing that either of you needed to know was the name of a disgraced priest.  You’d spread that around faster than a wildfire in a dry summer.”_

_“He’s right, Loras, and you know it,” Renly laughed heartily before taking a swig from his water bottle, “Although I must confess, that would have been a juicy little story to share.  Too bad that Monsignor Snow over here had to raise his hand and get all self-righteous with our chubby little professor.”_

_“Lay off, you two.  I think Jon did the right thing by reminding Father Varys that we shouldn’t take pleasure in the misery of others,” Sam chimed in after chewing his bite of apple, “I think it’s sad that the priest Father Varys mentioned chose to break his vows like that.  How unhappy that priest must have been.”_

_“I don’t know about that,” Loras giggled, leaning slightly to bump Renly with his elbow, “Sex doesn’t normally make a man miserable, now does it?”_

_“Really?” Jon groaned, “Why are you even here at seminary, Tyrell?  All you ever talk about is sex, having sex, wanting to have sex, and wondering if you’ll actually be able to give up sex.”_

_“I’m here because my grandmother wanted me to get married to some pretty little rich girl that I barely knew to meld our family fortunes,” Loras replied haughtily, raising his blonde eyebrow as he spoke, “And getting married was the last thing in this world that I wanted to do.”_

_“I don’t know, Loras,” Sam grinned, “That doesn’t sound so bad to me!”_

_“Well, it does if you don’t like girls…I mean, don’t like the girl,” Loras quickly corrected, shooting a brief glance at Renly, who smirked with a raised eyebrow at his roommate’s faux pas._

_“Father Varys was wrong to spread gossip, and he knows that,” Jon insisted, pushing his lunch away, finding himself unable to eat any more, “That’s all he ever does.  Whoever decided that Father Varys should be a first-year student’s philosophical ethics professor ought to have his head examined.  The man has no ethics.”_

_“Would you listen to this one?” Loras gasped in mock horror, playfully swatting Jon on the upper arm, “Those are some strong words, Snow!”_

_“You know,” Renly chimed in, leaning slightly forward as he began to speak, his voice dramatically lowered so the table full of seminary students surrounding them in the cafeteria couldn’t hear him, “I stayed behind to ask Father Varys who the priest was whom he mentioned today.”_

_“Renly!” Sam chastised, his voice also virtually a whisper, “You shouldn’t have done that!  It’s none of our business!”_

_“Oh, do tell!” Loras chirped, clapping his hands together, not caring at all who might overhear, “Did Father Varys tell you?”_

_“Why in the name of all that is holy do you two care so much about knowing who the priest was?” Jon growled under his breath, “Whatever the man did, he has confessed his sins, made his penance, and should be forgiven.  That should have been the end of it then, and that should be the end of it now.”_

_Ignoring Jon, Renly continued sharing his gossip, “Father Varys said the priest’s name was Jaime Lannister.”  Pleased with himself for having such intel, Renly continued his story while Loras eagerly anticipated the forthcoming information, “And he even went so far as to tell me that the man is actually still a priest as we speak.”_

_“How?” Sam gaped, his intense curiosity jockeying for position over his sense of decorum, “How is it possible that a man who had a relationship with a married woman and purportedly fathered children with her remains a priest?”_

_“I’ll tell you how,” Loras declared, “The Lannisters are the wealthiest family in all of King’s Landing.  I know because I spent two of my summers there while I was in high school.  I worked as a camp counselor for the church school.  The Lannister name is on just about every building on campus.  They practically own that town.”_

_“Are you implying that the man’s family bought his way out of disrepute with the Church?” Jon laughed, “You’re crazy, Tyrell.  That’s impossible!”_

_“Anything is possible, Snow,” Loras smiled deviously as he pushed his shoulder-length blond curls out of his face, “Money talks.  Even priests are subject to vices, you know.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Upon hearing Father Jaime’s decree, the utter shock and disbelief coursing through Jon’s veins almost made him faint.

“Come again?” Jon all but whispered, his voice thick and scratchy, his breathing rate increasing rapidly.

“I think you heard me the first time,” Father Jaime retorted, his fingers still drumming lightly on the arm of the visitor’s chair.

Sitting bolt upright in his office chair so fast that the wheels in the back almost raised from the ground, Jon could barely speak.

 _My father?  My father sent him to see me?_  

“You…you’re here because…because of my father?” he managed to choke out, swallowing hard as he absorbed the idea that Father Jaime not only held information that Jon had given up discovering years ago, but the priest who had ridden into town in his golden chariot actually came at his father’s request.

“Yes, I am,” Father Jaime continued, a slight smirk playing across his features as if he were enjoying this moment far too much, “Would you like to know why?  Or would you rather ask me questions about him first?  Your choice.  I’ll let you decide.”

Completely flummoxed at the moment, Jon mumbled the first thing that popped into his head, “How did you meet him?  How long have you known him?”

“Hmm…it seems like forever, really.  We went to seminary together.  We also served together at the parish over in Winterfell for a spell before your father requested to be transferred back to his home parish in Valyria.”  As Jaime finished his brief recollection, he stared hard at Jon, visibly assessing just how ignorant the poor young man truly was about his origins.

Jon’s head felt like it was about to explode.  _Did he just say that they went to seminary together?_

“You met him at seminary?” Jon rasped, trying feverishly to process the concept, “Are you telling me that my father…my birth father is…is a…”

Lowering his head, Father Jaime sighed slowly, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs before responding, “Yes, Jon, your father was a priest,” the handsome older priest replied, finally looking at the younger man seated across from him once again.  The older priest’s right fist that was resting on the arm of his chair was unconsciously clenching and unclenching now.  “He was a priest when he met your mother and fell in love.”

Jon’s eyes widened comically.  His throat constricted.  His mouth was dry.  This man sitting before him not only knew his father, but had served as a priest alongside of him.  A priest.  _Holy Mary, Mother of God, Save Me, my birth father was a priest!_

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Jon muttered, leaning back into his chair and running both of his hands through his dark curls, “A priest…I just...I can’t believe it…

“I can only imagine how much of a shock it would be for any young man to discover the nature of his parentage had ties to the Church,” Father Jaime replied feebly, shifting slightly in his chair, “You really had no idea at all about your origins, did you?  Your father imagined as much.”

Staring blankly out of his office window toward the old elm tree, Jon’s heart felt like it was about to burst from the rapid rate at which it was pounding inside his chest.  “No, none.  My mother never wanted to talk about him.”  As he thought about his mum and the story that she had told him once about his father, Jon suddenly realized that she deliberately had evaded his pursuit for answers by shrouding her words in a cloak of half-truths.  Although she hadn’t actually lied, she didn’t speak the whole truth either.  His mother had told Jon that his father had been married when she had started her affair with him.  Technically, a priest is married to the Church.

 _How clever you were, mum,_ Jon mused, the anger inside him starting to sizzle just under the surface.

Reaching behind his neck, scratching nervously, Jon spoke as he watched the groundskeeper flitting about the garden area around the massive elm tree, “My mum told me that my father was a married man.  She just didn’t seem to feel the need to clarify that any further.  I wonder now if anything she told me about him was true.”

“Ask away, then, if you’d like,” Father Jaime declared, widening his arms as if he were offering Jon the world, “I’ll tell you whatever I know.”

“Tell me everything…I want to hear everything that you know about my father.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Decades.”

“Well, in that case…” Father Jaime grinned slightly, “How about we start from the beginning?”

Silent as a stone, Jon simply nodded his head.

“Your father’s name was Rhaegar Targaryen,” Father Jaime began, “We met when we were both in our last year of seminary.  It turned out that we had a lot in common.  We were both the eldest sons of extremely wealthy families, destined to inherit an immense fortune but pissed it all away just to stick it to our overbearing fathers who wanted to control our lives.  Rhaegar actually wanted to be a priest for years, but his father wanted him to marry some distant cousin and to breed more Targaryens.  Me?  I couldn’t be with the woman I had loved since my youth, thanks to my father’s incessant meddling in my affairs, so I joined the ranks of the brotherhood to ensure that he wouldn’t get the bloody heir that he so desperately wanted.”

“My father…what did he look like?” Jon asked quietly, “Do I look like him?”

“Not so much.  You look more like your mum,” Father Jaime smiled as he leaned forward, removing Jon’s photo of his mother that rested on the corner of his desk.  “Your father was blond,” the older priest continued, lightly tracing his fingers along the edge of the silver frame while studying Lyanna’s picture, “He had the palest blond hair that I’ve ever seen.  He said it was a Targaryen trait, as were his indigo eyes.  Rhaegar was incredibly handsome.  Tall, too.  Taller than me by a few inches.  All the ladies, young and old, adored him, as you can imagine.  But the man could be so infuriatingly pious, it was downright obnoxious at times.”

“How did he and my mother meet?” Jon quizzed, wondering how a priest and a woman who wasn’t even a Catholic met in the first place.

“Ah, now there is an interesting little story,” Father Jaime hummed, replacing the photo on Jon’s desk, “Your mother was an extremely beautiful, smart young lady.  A nursing student, if I recall right.  She had met some young Catholic ladies in her class, and they invited her to come to their young adult group meetings held at the Church on campus.  Your father was the head pastor attached to that parish.  That’s how they met.”

“I see,” Jon sighed, “So, how do you know all of this?  Were you there?”

“Yes, Bishop Mormont thought Rhaegar and I would make a good team.  We were young, fresh out of seminary, and the old fool thought that the two of us would be able to relate to the students,” Father Jaime replied, laughing to himself yet out loud as if he were thinking about an inside joke of which Jon was not privy, “Can you imagine?  Would you place two attractive, inexperienced young priests in charge of a major university’s parish full of even younger college co-eds?”

Jon was speechless.  What on earth could he say to that?

“No, I didn’t think so,” Father Jaime sniffed, “That assuredly was a recipe for disaster.”

“My mother told me that she had attended college at the University of Westeros at Winterfell.  It’s all making sense now…” Jon mumbled mostly to himself.  She had been away from her family.  She probably was lonely.  She started going to the Church with her friends and met a handsome young priest.  _Dear God, it’s like something out of the movies…_

“Is there anything else you wish to know?” Father Jaime asked, tilting his head slightly to the side as his green eyes narrowed, studying Jon intensely.

“Where is my father now?” Jon demanded firmly, his voice rising slightly as he spoke, “And why did he send you?  Why not come himself if he’s so damn curious about me after almost 28 years?”

Father Jaime’s mouth pursed tightly as he answered, “He’s dead, Jon.  He died three months ago.”

“Dead?” Jon gasped in shock at the sudden blow.

“Rhaegar was a cardinal in Rome.  Shortly after he moved back to his home parish, he was able to acquire a position attending to the one of the Pope’s little minions,” Father Jaime answered nonchalantly with a slight tone of disgust in his voice, “He worked his way right up the ranks of the Vatican like a good little soldier for Christ.  Rhaegar was phenomenal at kissing ass.  Far better than me.  That’s probably why I’ve been banished to Casterly Rock all of these years.”

Jon immediately stood from his chair, his legs knocking the seat so hard that it slammed into the wall behind him, and began to pace the length of his office.  “So, let me get this straight.  My father gets my mother pregnant, runs off to his home parish, makes his way to Rome, and spends the rest of his life in the lap of luxury at the Vatican while my single mother works non-stop to put food on our table and a roof over our heads?”  A fit of maniacal laughter burst forth from Jon without warning, an action which caused Father Jaime’s eyes to widen, “The no-good bastard!”

“Hear me out, Jon,” Father Jaime spoke softly, his head moving side to side as he watched Jon pace, his feet grinding a pathway into the carpet, “In your father’s defense, your mother didn’t tell him about your existence until well after you were born.  He was already in Rome by then.”

“If he loved her, why didn’t he stay here in the first place?” Jon growled, “Why didn’t he come back for her?  For me?  You said so yourself: they were in love.  He should have left the church and married her!”

“Your mother left Winterfell without even saying good-bye to Rhaegar,” Father Jaime huffed, “He didn’t know where she went at first.  Finally, one of the students told him that Lyanna had dropped out of college and had moved to Hardhome.  When Rhaegar reached out to her, she wouldn’t answer his phone calls or letters.  He eventually assumed like any man would that she wanted nothing to do with him.”

“But…when he found out about me…why didn’t he come back?” Jon murmured, his voice cracking at the thought of his father’s response to his mother’s letter.  Rhaegar had openly rejected him.  Was his career so incredibly important to him that he could deny the existence of his son?

Father Jaime sighed heavily as he studied Jon intently, “Not every man has the fortitude to buck the Church, Jon.  Rhaegar wanted to be priest, and acknowledging you openly would have meant the end of his career.  Your father made a horrendous mistake by not reaching out to you until it was too late.  I told him so myself years ago, but then, it wasn’t my life to live.”

Hearing the older priest’s defense of Rhaegar’s actions did not soften Jon’s opinion on the matter.  “I’m not buying this story at all!”  he shouted, balling his fists as he stomped a few steps toward Father Jaime, “He couldn’t have gotten in his damn car and driven to Hardhome to see her?  No, either he lied to you or you’re lying to me!  I don’t believe any of this!”

“Believe what you want to believe, Jon,” Father Jaime responded coolly as he shifted his weight in his seat, completely unfazed by Jon’s outpouring of emotion, “It is of no consequence to me.  I’ve made enough of my own mistakes to atone for in this lifetime.  I don’t need to add lying to you to the laundry list of sins that I’ve committed.”

As Jon stood his ground, just inches from Father Jaime sitting in his chair, Jon’s stared deeply into the older man’s green eyes.  Like a clap of thunder, Jon could feel the blood rushing through his ears as he suddenly remembered why the priest’s name had sounded so familiar when they were introduced.

“You…” Jon mumbled almost inaudibly, slowly backing up a few steps as if he’s seen Lucifer himself, “You’re the priest that I remember hearing about in seminary…you’re the one who had an affair with a married woman…and fathered her children.”

The handsome, well-dressed priest’s face lost all color.  His jaw suddenly set firmly as if he were clenching his teeth hard enough that they might break.  As quickly as the anger had consumed his face, Father Jaime regained his composure.  Shaking his head, rising to his full height as he stood, he actually laughed.  “If you’re offended by rumors, Jon, then how must you react to hearing confessions?”

Slowly sauntering forward, Father Jaime approached Jon until he was just inches in front of him.  Leaning into Jon’s personal space, the tall blond clergyman bent down, whispering into Jon’s ear, “Rhaegar asked me on his death bed to come speak with you, and I only promised him that I would because your father once helped me overcome a serious scandal long ago.”  With that declaration, Father Jaime reared back, his eyes boring holes into Jon as if he could see directly into Jon’s soul, “I owed him.  And a Lannister always pays their debts.”

“You owed him?” Jon asked, slightly breathless as he tried to stand his ground, willing himself to not back down no matter how unnerving Father Jaime Lannister’s behavior was at the moment.

“Yes, I owed him,” Father Jaime began as Jon’s eyes defiantly locked with his, “A year or so after your mother bolted, Rhaegar transferred back home to Valyria, and I moved home to King’s Landing.  It was there that I was caught right in the sanctuary by some snot-nosed brat while I was engaging in carnal pleasures with the woman I loved.  I was going to face a hearing where without a doubt, I would have been defrocked in utter disgrace.  Rhaegar, however, was such a good player at the game of politics within the Church that he was able to schmooze the uppity-ups in the diocese, using his family’s connections and wealth to help me receive a mere slap on the hand and a reassignment of location.”

“I want you to leave,” Jon hissed, stepping away from Father Jaime as he backed up slowly and waved his hand wildly toward the door, “Go!  Get out of my office!  Now!”

“As you wish,” Father Jaime sighed, bowing slightly as he smiled at Jon.  “Before he passed this life, Rhaegar asked me to find you and to give you this.”  With that statement, the visiting priest reached inside his black suit jacket, pulling out a white envelope from his breast pocket.  Tossing the envelope onto Jon’s desk, Jaime turned to leave.  When he reached the office door, Father Jaime spun gracefully on his heels with the doorknob still in his hands.  “I’m grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us,” he stated with a wink, “For it weren’t for holy men like yourself, what would the rest of us sinners do?”  And with that parting shot, Father Jaime Lannister jerked open the door and walked out with an air of dignity not befitting the situation at hand.

Jon could hear Father Jaime bidding farewell to Mrs. Mordane who once again sounded like a teenage girl fawning over her latest crush.  The information Father Jaime had disseminated was swirling around in his brain so fast that Jon thought he might become dizzy.

He had waited a lifetime to find out about his father, and after his mother passed away, Jon thought that would be the end of any inquiry.  Yet today, it took less than half an hour spent in the presence of Father Jaime Lannister to realize that Jon wished that he’d never heard the name Rhaegar Targaryen.

Remembering that Mrs. Mordane was going to clear his schedule for the afternoon, Jon wanted to flee.  He wanted to run so damn far away from his office, from the rectory, from the Church and the campus…he had to escape.  He wanted to be anywhere but here.  So, grabbing the smooth white envelope from his desk that Father Jaime had left behind, Jon scrambled out of his office.

“Mrs. Mordane, I have some business that calls me elsewhere,” Jon began, praying that he sounded both calm and coherent, “I’ll have my phone if you need to reach me.”

“Yes, Father Jon, of course,” she replied, not looking up from typing the weekly parish bulletin to be handed out during the Sunday Mass.

Jon left the ringer on his cell phone turned off as he quickly made his way out of the church offices and jumped into his black truck.  Slamming it into gear, Jon bolted out of the parking lot as he drove without direction or purpose.  Stopped at a traffic light just a few blocks from the church, he thought about his young mother finding herself pregnant and all alone, rejected by her family after she had decided to keep him.  Jon owed her his life, and for that, he was eternally grateful.  But his mother had lied to him.  Not directly, but through a veiled attempt to divert him off the pathway to the truth.

He didn’t know what to believe any more.  All of his life, Jon had tried to behave like an upstanding, faithful little Catholic boy.  Even during his brief dalliance with Ygritte, Jon had sought the confessional booth and repeatedly admonished himself for his weakness after their affair ended.  Jon may have strayed along the way, but the Church had always been the rock on which he could lean for stability and truth. 

Spending less than an hour in Jaime Lannister’s company, Jon now found himself questioning the entire framework of his faith.

If he were to believe Jaime, Jon’s father, a priest no less, had fallen in love and had engaged in an illicit affair with his mother.  For reasons his mother took with her to the grave, she didn’t let Rhaegar know about his son until well-after Jon was born.  By then, Jon’s father was probably bitter and angry for having been kept out in the dark.  What an ambitious man like Rhaegar should have done and what he did do was not the point any longer.  All Jon could think about was why on his death bed did his birth father suddenly care about finding him.  Was it guilt?  Regret?  Penance?  Most likely, it was all three rolled up into a nice, neat care package that Rhaegar could take with him on his one-way ticket to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the second of a three-chapter arc pertaining to Father Jon's origins and how he begins to assimilate that knowledge. Stay tuned for the next chapter to be posted soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon wrestles with the sudden knowledge that his father was a priest. While dealing with his emotions, Father Jon visits his mother's grave and opens the letter from Cardinal Rhaegar Targaryen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the three-chapter arc where Jon begins to come to terms with his past, present, and future. Hang on for the ride!

_“Do you think you’ll be able to keep your vows if you become a priest when we grow up, Jon?” Sam asked while lying on his back in the freshly clipped grass up on the hill overlooking the God’s Wood.  The two teenage boys, both in their second year of high school, were basking in the warmth of the early evening summer sun, catching their breath after riding their bikes from Sam’s neighborhood off River Road where Jon had spent the night all the way to the Church for their weekly Thursday evening Confirmation preparation classes._

_“I don’t know.  I guess so,” Jon mused as he also lay on his back, staring at the fluffy white clouds drifting along in the deep indigo sky, his hands neatly folded under his head for support, “I mean, I think I will if I pray hard enough.  That’s what Father Davos says, anyway.”_

_“I can’t believe that you want to be a priest,” Sam wondered, still in disbelief that any boy at fifteen could have already decided something so serious as entering the clergy, “Don’t you want to…you know…”_

_“Want to what, Sam?  Have sex?” Jon teased, quickly moving his leg to kick his best friend’s shin._

_“Come on!” Sam blushed from ear-to-ear, “You know that’s not what I meant!”_

_Jon couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s sudden embarrassment, “Sure it is.  I’ve seen the way you look at Gilly Murray and the way she looks at you.  I know what you’re thinking!”_

_“OK, would you stop now?” Sam huffed, a slight grin betraying his feigned annoyance as he sat up, repositioning himself with his legs stretched out in front of him while leaning back on his hands, “There’s no way she’s interested in a guy like me.”_

_“And why not?” Jon demanded, “You’re brilliant, you’re funny, and you’re devoted to those you care about.  What girl wouldn’t want a go at you, eh, Sammy?” Unable to resist, Jon waggled his dark eyebrows at Sam, which caused his heavy-set friend to giggle slightly._

_“Yeah, right.  If I looked like you, then I’d not be worried,” Sam sighed, glancing over at his handsome best friend, “I just don’t get it, Jon.  You literally could have any girl in the entire school.  You’re athletic, you’re smart, and the way you look…yet you’re the biggest virgin at school.  Well, other than me, that is.”  As Jon snorted at Sam’s assessment of his imagined prowess, Sam continued, “Really, Jon.  I’m serious.  Don’t you want to be with a girl?  At least once?”_

_Jon’s smile faded slightly as he thought about Sam’s questions.  “Of course, I do, Sam.  I’m no saint.  I think about sex.  A lot, actually.”  Looking at Sam intently, Jon slowly sat up from his reclined position on the grass, bringing his knees up to his chest and encircling his legs with his arms.  “I just…you know…what if I got a girl pregnant?”  I don’t want to be responsible for bringing another bastard into this world.  Trust me; it’s not an easy life.”_

_Sam felt awful for having brought the entire subject matter up now that he saw Jon’s jaw clench, his obvious tell that he was upset.  “Oh man, I’m so sorry, Jon.  I wasn’t thinking when I - ”_

_“It’s alright, Sam,” Jon responded, inhaling and exhaling deeply, “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.  And you know I’m tougher than that.”  Reaching out to whack Sam on the upper arm, Jon smiled while shooting Sam a wink, “Enough with the heart-to-heart.  We’re going to be late.  Up with you now.  Move!”_

_“OK, OK!” Sam chuckled as he watched Jon spring to his feet, running down the hill to his hand-me-down bike that his mother had bought at a yard sale in the spring.  With much less finesse, Sam rose to his feet, hustling after Jon to jump on his own._

_“Race you!” Jon shouted, furiously launching himself before Sam could even mount his bike._

_“No fair!” yelled Sam, jumping on his bike and peddling as hard as he could to catch up with his dark-haired friend who was laughing loudly as he sped away, “You cheated!”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

After driving aimlessly around Hardhome for almost 20 minutes, Jon found himself just a few miles from the cemetery where his mother was buried.  As the urge to go see his mother’s grave overtook him, he suddenly veered his truck heading west, changing lanes erratically.  Once Jon arrived, he found himself virtually alone in the graveyard, only a lawn service crew diligently blowing piles of fallen leaves off the numerous places of eternal rest systematically arranged in nice, neat rows within the hallowed ground.

Walking along the cobblestone pathway toward his mother’s grave, Jon stopped momentarily by an enormous oak tree that shaded the center of the burial ground.  He reached into his breast pocket, slowly extracting his birth father’s little token of affection that he had bequeathed to him via Father Jaime.  Curious as to what the letter might say, wondering what finally had motivated Rhaegar to reach out to him after all of these years, Jon steeled his nerves, knowing that his typical lack of patience would get the better of him if he didn’t pick up the pace.  Finally standing in front of his mother’s final resting place, Jon sank to his knees.  Reaching out to his mother’s memorial, tenderly rubbing the etched gray stone, he touched her name and the epitaph that he had chosen in her memory: _Mors nos non disiungit_ _._

“Death does not part us,” Jon recited softly as he read the Latin inscription, his hand splaying across the headstone, “Oh, mum, I wish you were here.  I have so many questions…”  Kneeling before his mother’s grave, Jon finally decided to open the letter from his birth father, allowing the envelope to fall to the ground as he began to read the words that Rhaegar had written to him:

_Jon,_

_As I lie here in my bed awaiting the inevitable judgment of our Father, I am afraid.  Afraid not that the Father will deem me unworthy to enter into the kingdom of Heaven.  I have both confessed and made peace with the heavy weight of my sins, knowing full well that they are legion.  If I shall be turned away from the gates by St. Peter, then I have no one to blame for my eternal damnation but myself._

_No, Jon, I am afraid that the folly of my youth, wrapped tightly inside the pride of my aspirations, has prevented me from ever knowing you.  And now as I die without having laid eyes upon you, I am filled with a sense of longing and regret that is utterly indescribable._

_I loved your mother, Jon.  I truly loved her, and in my heart, I know that she loved me once as well.  However, I believe that once she realized I was not man enough to leave the Church for her, she fled without telling me of your existence.  Sadly, even if I had known of her pregnancy while we were still together, I cannot say with certainty that I would have done the right thing then, either._

_When your mother wrote to me here in Rome all those years ago, telling me that I had made a beautiful, dark haired son, I had the opportunity to do right by you.  I could have renounced my vocation and walked away from my position and my career.  Perhaps we even could have become a family over time.  If your mother and I never reconciled, however, I still should have at least acknowledged you, provided for you, and submitted to whatever punishments befell me for willfully breaking my vows._

_Instead, I refused to see you.  I told your mother that I had no room in my life for a secret love child.  I was too ambitious, too selfish, and too worried about the opinion of others to forgo my vocation.  I should have stood down and stood by you and Lyanna, but like the arrogant, self-absorbed fool that I was, I chose the Church over the two of you._

_I regret that I will never have the chance to rectify the pain and turmoil that I assuredly have brought to your life.  I have neither right nor claim upon your affections.  You are a grown man now.  A priest, so I’m told.  You now know as well as I the difficult, lonely life a man faces when embarking upon a journey such as ours.  The Church is a wonderful, glorious place, isn’t it, Jon?  Yet, it is an extremely hard life, one full of suffering and self-denial, even for the most pious of men._

_I can only imagine the anger, the hate, the rage you must feel toward me.  I submit to it completely.  I alone am to blame for rendering you fatherless.  I was a coward, Jon.  One day, I beseech you to find it in your heart to forgive me for lacking the fortitude to do what was right._

_Forgive me for not being the man that your mother needed._

_Forgive me for not being the father that you deserved._

_Forgive me for allowing my greed, my envy, and my lust to consume me such that you were made to suffer for my sins._

_Remember that blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.  Your Heavenly Father will never forsake you as I have done.  As I depart this world, I will pray that you will find the happiness and the fulfillment within the Church that has eluded me even unto death._

_Your humble servant of Christ,_

_Rhaegar Targyren_

While in the presence of that insufferable Father Jaime Lannister, listening to the older priest’s meager attempt to rationalize Rhaegar’s reasons for ignoring both Jon and his mother, Jon had wanted to jump to his feet, leap across his desk, and throttle that smug bastard as he sat there like some golden lion assessing its kill before pouncing on its prey.  It had taken every fiber of Jon’s being to not take out his vexation at the insanity of the entire situation on the visiting priest.  As Jon stood before his mother’s grave, praying silently to himself for the strength to hold himself together, he finally lost control.  He began to cry.  Not deep, anguished tears of longing for a life he never had.  And not mournful, sorry tears of self-pity for a father he never knew.

These tears were spiteful.  Vengeful, even.  Letting those tears fall freely was the only way outside of inflicting physical violence that Jon knew how to express his utter rage at the man who had brought him into this world and then had left him to fend for himself.

“I don’t believe it…” Jon mumbled as if he were talking to his mum, his eyes darting feverishly across the letter once again, “He’s asking me to forgive him.  That’s it.  Even in death, he’s still only worried about himself.  No, I can’t.  Not now, not ever!”  Realizing that he had started to shout, Jon’s brown eyes quickly darted around the cemetery to see if he had inadvertently caused a scene, but thankfully, the few men working to clean up the grounds were well out of earshot.

Jon wanted to run yet again.  He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs until his throat was raw.  He wanted to beat the living shit out of someone or something, too.  However, none of these options really would solve anything or ease his inner turmoil.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth, mum?” Jon sniffed, the wetness pooling in his eyes now as he tried to calm down, “Why wouldn’t you trust me enough to tell me that my father was a priest?”  Clutching the letter from Rhaegar tightly in his hands, Jon shoved it back into the envelope, stuffing it roughly into his coat pocket.

“I wouldn’t have hated you, you know,” he continued, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands, “I wouldn’t have thought any less of you for loving a man called to serve God.”  Standing before his mother’s gravesite, Jon had never felt so alone in his entire life as he did right then.  His mum was gone, and the man who had given him life was now dead as well.  All the answers Jon sought to his myriad questions would remain unfulfilled.  His parents had taken the story of their love, their loss, and their regret with them to the grave.

“Damn it, mum!” he growled, his battle for self-control waning, “You should have told me about him yourself! _”_ Staring blankly off into the distance as he collected himself once again, Jon realized that he actually felt betrayed.  “You lied to me, mum.  You lied by omission.  I know you must have thought that you were protecting me, but you weren’t.  I had a right to know.  I could have tried to contact him.  I could have confronted him.  I could have done so many things, mum, but now…now I can’t.  And it hurts…God, it just hurts so badly…”

Right there, in the middle of the cemetery while kneeling directly before his mum’s grave, Jon knew that although he could forgive his mother for what she had done, he could not honor his birth father’s wish to forgive him for his abandonment.   _Maybe one day, Rhaegar Targyren, I will,_ Jon thought to himself, his eyes cast toward the heavens, _But not today._

While staring at the gray clouds ambling slowly across the late afternoon sky, Jon experienced a moment of clarity.  He wanted Sansa.  Desperately.  He wanted to hold her, to feel her breath on his skin.  She made him feel alive.

Until he had met her, Jon had stumbled through his life, blindly following the pathway that had been set before him as a child.  First, his mother had installed him in the Church as she clung to her faith, finding refuge in its arms for herself and for her young son.  Then, Father Davos had taken a liking to Jon, placing him under his wing, all the while grooming Jon to become a clergyman like himself.  With Ygritte, Jon had given her his body and his heart, hoping that she would love him back as much as he loved her, but instead of loving him in return, she had merely toyed with his emotions, perfectly content to cut him loose when a better opportunity came along.

Feeling his heart rate rising drastically, he closed his eyes tightly, envisioning Sansa on the day that he had talked with her at the pancake breakfast.  She was so beautiful.  He could hear her laughter bouncing around in his brain.  The woman was exquisite.  Ethereal.  Jon wanted nothing more than to stand in her presence, to bask in her essence.  God save him, he needed to see her.  To talk to her.  To tell her that no matter what sanctions he faced or what the good people of Hardhome would think about a priest forsaking his vows, Jon was through pretending that he could live his life without her.

Father Davos’s words suddenly echoed in Jon’s ears: “ _You only have one chance at life here on earth, Jon, but what you do here in this life, you will answer for in the next.”_

“God as my witness, I am through with the lies,” Jon vowed as he opened his eyes, reaching with both hands to remove his clerical collar from its hallowed place around his neck.  “No.  More.  Lies.”  Still like a statue, Jon stared at the thin, white band that had signaled to the world his servitude to the Church.  As he tilted his head, slightly turning in his grip the thin strip that reflected his promise of purity, he carefully studied it, examining it as if it were truly the very first time that he had laid his dark brown eyes upon the thing.

The symbolism of the collar that priests must wear was not lost on him.  In seminary, Jon had been told that the white collar should remind him of his marriage to Christ and to the Church, giving up his freedom and control over his own life.  On the day of his ordination, lying prostrate on the floor before the altar, he had accepted his yoke, accepted the literal stranglehold that the Church demands of its clergy to model a life of chastity and purity.

 “I love her, mum,” Jon sniffed, grinning slightly as he once again looked at his mother’s grave, “I wish you could meet Sansa.  I know that you’d like her.”  Kneeling down, holding his clerical collar in one hand while touching the tombstone before him, he sighed heavily, smiling wider as if an enormous weight was suddenly lifted from his shoudlers.

 “ ‘ _Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.’_ Do you remember that passage from Isaiah, mum?  Remember how happy I was as a boy to find out that God mentioned my name in the Bible?” Jon laughed as he reminisced about his youth.  “I forgive you.  I forgive you for everything, mum,” he whispered as he leaned forward, placing a kiss on his mother’s name, “Please forgive me as well.”  He gently laid the collar at the base of his mother’s headstone, stroking it once last time before rising to his full height and turning to walk back down the cobblestone path leading out of the cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like somebody needs a hug...I bet Jon knows just the lady to give him one!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes her way through the school day after dealing with an extremely heinous start to her morning, and she also reflects upon what happened to her beloved childhood priest, Father Jory. After school, Father Sam stops Sansa to advise her as she readies herself to depart for home. And when she arrives at her apartment building, Sansa is surprised to find Father Jon waiting for her arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa attempts to reconcile her worries about what will happen to Father Jon once their budding relationship is revealed. Will her memories of what became of Father Jory change her mind?

_“I still am having a hard time believing it,” Mrs. Dustin huffed as she took a sip of her tea, her smug smirk betraying that she was actually enjoying the act of gossiping about another person’s misery, “Father Jory, of all people!”_

_“Isn’t it shocking?” Mrs. Hornwood exclaimed, widening her eyes and putting her hand over her décollatage as she pretended to be stunned, “It’s horrifying to find out that our parish priest had a secret lover.  For years, no less.  Goodness, he would have never come out in the open with the whole affair if he hadn’t been caught.  It’s downright sickening, if you ask me.”_

_“Bishop Mormont should have excommunicated him on the spot, if you ask me,” Mrs. Dustin added as she lifted her chin authoritatively, “There should have been no need for a hearing on the matter.  Goodness, the man committed a gravely sinful and scandalous act.  It’s no wonder the poor man ended it like he did.”_

_Both guests in the Stark house turned their undivided attention to Catelyn, their extremely reluctant hostess today for the Women’s Guild weekly small-group Bible study, to ascertain whether she was on board with them.  Two Sundays ago, Father Jory announced straight from the pulpit during his homily that he was relinquishing his position as head pastor of their Church.  After his announcement, he stepped down from the pulpit, letting his associate pastor continue the Mass, disappearing from the church and from the judgmental stares from his congregation.  Twenty-four hours later, Father Jory was found dead by his own hand in a hotel room just outside of Winterfell, leaving behind a short note begging forgiveness for his sinful, weak nature._

_Catelyn Stark sighed heavily as she sat down her teacup on the table, trying to find the words to express her heartbreak without sounding judgmental, “Yes, it came as a terrible shock to us when we found out that Father Jory was hiding secrets from us.  Ned is completely devastated by all of this.  He’s known Father Jory since grade school.  We had absolutely no idea that Father Jory was involved in a clandestine relationship with...we just wish that he wouldn’t have…that he didn’t...”_

_“Oh, Cat,” Mrs. Hornwood cooed, pretending to be sympathetic, reaching out to pat Catelyn on the back lightly as Catelyn choked up, “Just because you’ve known Father Jory all of these years doesn’t mean that you would know what the man did behind closed doors.  God knows what else they would have found out about if they had begun an inquiry.”_

_“You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you!” shouted Sansa, who had arrived home from high school just moments ago and happened to overhear the exchange between the three women._

_“Sansa!” her mother cried out in surprise, “I didn’t hear you come in!”_

_“Obviously,” Sansa hissed in reply as she let her purple backpack drop by her feet on the floor.  Her fists clenched by her sides.  She wanted to scream at the two old busybodies to go home and leave her poor, frazzled mother alone._

_“Mercy me, Cat!” Mrs. Dustin huffed with a complete air of disdain as she stared at the tall young girl, “Your daughter’s temper certainly matches her hair these days.”_

_“Who are you to judge Father Jory?” Sansa snapped, her ponytail whipping around the air as she glared at the hateful older woman, “He was a wonderful priest and a good man.  He made a mistake.  Aren’t we supposed to love him and to forgive him?  Isn’t that what God wants us to do?”_

_Catelyn’s sky-blue eyes darted between her enraged daughter and her two appalled house guests, “Sansa, stop this!” Catelyn demanded in a hushed voice, “Please calm down!”_

_“Father Jory lied to all of us, darling,” Mrs. Hornwood chimed in while sporting her best fake smile, “He was a man of the cloth.  He took vows.  He knew what he was doing was wrong when he -”_

_Everything Sansa had been taught ever since she could walk was on the line.  Father Jory had been a good priest who had fallen in love, and it hurt like hell to hear all of the self-righteous assholes at school and at church pass terrible judgment on a man that not just a few weeks ago they had held in the highest regard._

_“Have you forgotten what St. Matthew says?  ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged.’  That is what you should be discussing during your little tea party, Mrs. Horwood,” Sansa derided angrily, “Not preparing to burn Father Jory’s memory at the stake!”_

_“That is quite enough out of you, young lady!” Catelyn hissed as she quickly rose to her feet, her hands slapping the kitchen table as she righted her balance, “Get to your room!  Now!”_

_“With pleasure,” Sansa growled, shooting one last nasty look at the two shocked but thoroughly chided old hags before bending down to scoop her backpack into her arms.  Running through the living room and upstairs to her bedroom, Sansa tossed her backpack across her room as she slammed her door shut.  The tears fell hard and fast as she flung herself on her twin bed, crying in both a fit of rage at the women downstairs and at Father Jory for not being the man whom she thought he was all of these years._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Remarkably, the rest of Sansa’s day since the horrifying incident in her classroom had been relatively tame.  As Mother Superior Mary Melisandre had requested, Sansa taught her morning Latin classes in the cafeteria, which was not an easy task without her proper tools of the trade, but she managed to pull it off fairly well.  By lunch, Sansa’s white board had been resurrected to its former pristine glory, and with relief, she excused herself from Jeyne and the other teachers on staff to eat her lunch alone in her deserted classroom.  Although no one had dared say anything to Sansa about the inscription found on her white board this morning, she was neither interested in being stared at by her colleagues nor prepared to try to ignore their whispers behind her back while she tried to eat her food.

Much to her chagrin, Harry’s attempt to threaten her had worked, even though she continuously reminded herself that she and Jon were in love.  Harry’s little stunt had in fact rattled her to the core.  Sansa had marched into Our Lady of the Wall today with her head held high, confident in her decision to pursue her relationship with Jon.  He loved her.  She loved him.  It all seemed so easy last night, yet the more she agonized over Harry’s tacit threat by text this morning, the obstacles that she and Jon would need to overcome in order to be together almost seemed insurmountable.

While picking at her salad in the sweet solitude of her empty classroom, Sansa tossed her fork onto her desk and stared blankly out the classroom window at the teenagers mingling and laughing with their friends.  Sighing heavily, she reflected on what had happened to her beloved parish priest when she was not much older than the kids in her own class.  Father Jory, a much-loved and respected priest as well as family friend, had been run out on a rail in the middle of her freshman year at Winterfell High School because he had made the mistake of falling in love.  Before his clerical hearing could take place, Father Jory had killed himself because of the extremely public shame that he had to endure when word of his relationship spread rapidly throughout the parish.

The scandal that ensued was the stuff of legend in her hometown.  The entire Catholic community in Winterfell felt the shockwave that Father Jory’s departure and death caused.  To be honest, Sansa had been supremely upset to learn about her beloved priest’s transgressions, but she forgave him almost immediately.  She had refused to join in the parish-wide witch hunt like most of her fellow classmates and parishioners had created.  Sansa adored Jory Cassel, and in her heart, she believed that he was still a good man, even if a fallen one in the eyes of the Church.  He hadn’t deserved the level of wrath he encountered upon openly acknowledging his love.  No wonder the man opted to take the easy way out of his suffering.  How could any man have faith in an institution dedicated to God, a place where one was supposed to seek refuge and sanctuary, that cried for blood the minute one made a mistake?

After lunch, Sansa plowed through her last few afternoon classes, praying silently to herself the whole time that Jon’s talk with Father Davos went well.  Based on prior conversations with Jon, she was well aware that Father Davos had been like a father figure to him.  His opinion mattered greatly to Jon.  Part of Sansa was worried that if Father Davos told him to knock it off with her and to repent that Jon would do just that.  She checked her cell phone off and on throughout the day, anxiously awaiting word from Jon about his meeting with Father Davos.  Yet when she saw his message after she finished her last class of the day, she was growing concerned.  Jon’s text mentioned absolutely nothing about his time spent with his mentor, which caused the seeds of doubt planted by Harry started to take root once again.

If Sansa continued to pursue her relationship with Jon, he would find himself in the same boat as Father Jory.  The good folks of Hardhome would not take kindly to Jon’s decision to step down from his vocation because he had fallen in love.  Even if he applied for dispensation to be laicized, Sansa knew that he may never actually be granted permission to break his vow of celibacy.  “Once a priest, always a priest,” so the motto goes.  If he didn’t get permission, then he’d truly be in direct violation of the Church’s dogma should they begin a physical relationship.  Well, if he _continued_ a physical relationship would be more accurate in this case.  And if they did, then Jon would be forced to suffer, not unlike Father Jory had done.  Jon would most likely have to walk away from the Church for good.  Not just from his vocation, but from his faith.  Was Sansa truly ready to demand that of him?

As Sansa sat in her Honda in the school parking lot, she caught herself gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white.  The irony of the moment overcame her.  Just yesterday, she was sitting here in the same pose, locked into the same angst, yet the cause of her turmoil was completely different.  Yesterday, like the proverbial dog, she’d wanted to catch the damn car.  Today, she’d not only caught it, she had gnawed its doors right off the hinges.

Before she could shove her keys into the ignition and head home, Father Sam appeared out of nowhere, standing in the parking lot right beside the driver’s side door.

“Sansa, may I talk to you for a moment?” Sam’s muffled voice pled, muted by the glass or her car window.  He was motioning for her to roll down her window.

Opening her car door instead, Sansa rose to her feet, standing beside her car as she shut the door.  “Sure, Father Sam.”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak to Jon today,” Father Sam began, the look of worry and concern etched in his features, “His phone has been off all day, and I haven’t been able to reach him,” Father Sam sighed deeply before continuing, “Have you heard from him?”

“Just a text this morning when he was on his way to see Father Davos and another that said he was coming back here,” Sansa replied, her eyes scanning the school parking lot as students and staff alike scurried about from the buildings, “In fact, I was going to call him on my way home.”  She felt both nervous and embarrassed to be talking to Father Sam about Jon, especially since the priest must have ample knowledge by this point about her feelings for Jon.

“Dear me,” Father Sam fretted, “This isn’t sounding good…it’s not like Jon to be so hard to reach…”

“He said he was coming back to his office,” Sansa added, knitting her ginger eyebrows together in confusion, “Is he not here?”

“No, Mrs. Mordane said that he had a visitor and then left,” Father Sam explained, “I’ve been in meetings all day.  By the time I was out of the last one, Jon – I mean, Father Jon – had already left.”  Sighing again as he placed his hands on his hips, Father Sam looked directly into her eyes, “Please ask Jon to call me, Sansa, when you talk to him.  I’m worried about him.”

“Yes, of course, Father Sam,” Sansa nodded as she reached for her car door handle.

“And Sansa,” Father Sam continued, reaching out to lightly grip her forearm, “I know that you and I aren’t exactly friends, but I’d like to think that you could trust me since I would do absolutely anything for Jon.”

“I trust you,” Sansa smiled, thankful that Jon had such a loyal friend, “Any friend of Jon’s is a friend of mine.”

The quick smile that flashed across Father Sam’s features disappeared as he glanced around the parking lot, leaning closer as he whispered, “Then let me remind you that you need to be careful, Sansa.  You and I both know who is responsible for what happened to your classroom today.  Jon told me about what happened last night, and I don’t want any harm to come to you.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Sansa replied, feeling the crimson flush of her pale cheeks, “But I don’t think…the person in question…will try anything else, Father Sam.”

“I’ll pray that you’re right,” Father Sam sighed as his eyes lowered toward his feet before looking at Sansa once again, “And I’ll try to keep Mother Superior distracted until you and Jon…decide how to proceed.  Please make sure you tell him about what happened here today as well, Sansa.  He should know.  He _needs_ to know.”

Sansa knew that Jon had told Father Sam last night about their budding relationship, but even though she should probably feel painfully awkward around Jon’s best friend and fellow priest right about now, the only thing she actually felt was relief.  Father Sam was on their side.

“I will,” Sansa declared, patting Father Sam’s hand still resting on her forearm, “I’ll tell him.”

Between her worry over Jon’s conversations today with Father Aemon and Father Davos as well as what happened this morning, Sansa wanted to flee Our Lady of the Wall and run home to call Jon.  She needed to see him and to know that he was alright.  “Father Sam, thank you for talking to me, but I’m afraid I’m tired.  I’ve had an exhausting day, so if you would please excuse me, I’d like to head home.”

As Father Sam’s face flushed a deep crimson visible even through his beard, he smiled feebly as he released her arm, “Yes, of course, Sansa.  Forgive me for delaying you.”  Bowing his head in a slight nod, Father Sam spun on his heels to turn back to the Church offices, “And remember: please ask Jon to call me should you hear from him soon.”

“Absolutely,” Sansa answered as she watched Father Sam walk toward the sidewalk, heading toward the church offices.

Once again in the quiet of her car, Sansa tried calling Jon.  Voicemail.  _Damnit!_ Sansa huffed, _Answer your phone, Jon!_ Deciding that she would just go home, change, and try him again later, Sansa tossed her phone back into her black handbag.  When she finally pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, she was stunned to see Jon’s black pickup truck parked in a visitor’s space in front of her building.  Jon was sitting on the steps leading to the front door of her building, just sitting there in his black clerical suit, his elbows resting on his knees.  As Sansa jumped out of her car and rushed to greet him, she immediately saw that he was not wearing his white priest’s collar.

 _Dear God, what happened?_ Sansa thought to herself as Jon smiled widely at her.

“Jon!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him before he could even finish standing to greet her, “I’ve been so worried about you today!  I wanted to talk to you so badly, but I couldn’t get to the phone during classes, and this morning was just insane, really, I need to tell you -”

“Hey, slow down,” Jon chuckled, his strong arms wrapped snugly around her, “I’m not going anywhere.  Is it OK if I follow you upstairs?  Just to talk.  No pressure or anything.”

Sansa lifted her head from their embrace, smiling in return.  However, her smile quickly evaporated when she really took a moment to scrutinize Jon’s handsome face.  His eyes…she could tell that he had been crying.

“Jon, what is wrong?” she inquired, her ginger brows furrowed together, feeling a knot forming in her stomach as his grin faded, “Did your talk with Father Davos not go well?”

“No, actually, he was a whole lot more understanding about us than I had imagined that he would be,” Jon answered calmly.  Staring into Sansa’s icy blue eyes, Jon reached out, tucking a loose strand of her copper hair behind her ear.  “I had a visitor today at the church office.  It was most enlightening, to say the least.”

“A visitor?” Sansa asked as she leaned into Jon’s touch, “Who was it?”

Jon’s eyes danced across Sansa’s features, searching for something she couldn’t quite decide what.  “His name is Father Jaime…you know, his name isn’t important.  What _is_ important is that he came to give me this,” Jon replied, pulling out an envelope from the inside pocket of his black dress coat and handing it to an extremely curious and worried Sansa.

“A priest came to your office to hand you a letter?” Sansa wondered aloud as she examined the plain, white envelope that only had the words “For Jon” written on the front.  The penmanship was beautiful, all loopy and flared.  “And you want me to read it?”

Jon smiled slightly, leaning in slowly to capture Sansa’s soft, red lips in a chaste kiss.  As he pulled back slowly, he nodded his head affirmative.  “Yes, Sansa.  I would like for you to read it.  And then we need to talk.  I have so much that I want to tell you.”

“I’m all ears,” Sansa grinned, wrapping her arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him closely to her body.  Feeling his warmth while he threw his arm over her shoulder, Sansa’s sense of self-doubt that she had experienced from earlier in the day seemed to melt.  She led Jon up the stairs of her building, heading to her apartment.  “I have something to tell you, too,” she added as they stood just outside Sansa’s apartment while she fiddled with her keys, unlocking her front door.  She did _not_ want to have the conversation that began with "Harry defaced my white board" or "Harry has photos of us.”  But she had promised Father Sam, and to be honest, Jon _did_ need to know what was in store for them as they began their relationship.

“I love you, Sansa,” Jon blurted out as he shot her a grin.

“And I love you too, Jon,” she beamed, taking him by the hand as she led him inside the door.  Hearing him say that made her heart flutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I left the gender of Father Jory's lover ambiguous on purpose. I'll let you decide for yourselves on that front!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon and Sansa talk about his visit with Father Jaime as well as his meetings earlier in the day with Father Aemon and Father Davos. Still worried about what awaits Father Jon, Sansa asks him a litany of questions. And as Father Jon's emotions get the best of him while he vows to stand by her, Sansa decides that Father Jon needs her comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, you have been most patient with this slow-burn journey as Jon and Sansa navigate through the uncharted waters of their burgeoning relationship. Your reward has arrived!

_“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Sansa muttered as she bowed her head and made the sign of the cross, “It’s been a little over a month since my last confession.”  She nervously worried her bottom lip, desperately trying to figure out how to say the words she needed to say in order to receive absolution.  Yet, she was terrified of spilling them in front of the very object of her desire._

_“Begin when you are ready, Sansa,” Father Jon smiled, sensing her unease at making confession for the first time with her brand-new priest.  “If you’d prefer, you may use the kneeler behind my chair.  You don’t have to sit facing me if it makes you uncomfortable.”  Jon had been a priest for long enough to know when a parishioner needed encouragement.  Sitting silently while taking the brief interlude to absorb her beauty, Jon waited for Sansa to continue, wondering how she was acclimating to her new job and parish._

_Sansa lifted her eyes to meet Jon’s face.  His deep brown eyes were friendly, and his expression was one of compassion.  “No, that’s OK.  I’m fine,” she grinned.  “I think I’m just nervous.”_

_“I understand,” Jon reassured her, nodding his head.  “This is our first time being together in this capacity, so I would expect you to be a bit apprehensive.”  He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand in his, to put his arm around her… even though he knew how wrong that would be.  “You can rest assured, Sansa, that I’m not here to judge you.  I’m here to help you.”_

_“I know, Father Jon,” Sansa smiled, wishing that he would look at her with such care and devotion outside of the confessional, “I’m fine, really.”_

_“So, what’s troubling you?” Father Jon asked as he closed his eyes and lowered his head, preparing himself to hear whatever Sansa had come to unload this morning during confession._

_“I’m…I’m having sexual thoughts about a man,” Sansa began slowly, couching her words carefully so as not to reveal one scrap of intel that might divulge the exact source of her lust, “I can’t seem to stop them.  I pray constantly for strength, but I seem to fail no matter what.”  Right now, she prayed that she would evaporate while sitting in the green chair of the confessional room.  Jon was the most handsome man she had ever seen.  Sitting here just a foot away from, watching every nuance of his expression and his demeanor, listening to his infernally sexy voice…Sansa had to bite her tongue to get her brain out of the gutter before she had to confess that thought, too._

_“I see.  Is there anything else that you feel led to confess today?” Father Jon asked softly, clearing his throat as he unconsciously reached up to scratch the back of his neck.  He suddenly was feeling too damn hot in his clerical garb._

_Sansa lowered her eyes once again to her lap, fiddling with the hem of her sweater, “I…I touched myself impurely while thinking of this man.  Several times.  I did this willfully, knowing that what I was doing was wrong.”  Having spit it out finally, Sansa took a deep breath, raising her pale eyes slowly._

_Their eyes locked.  Both were staring at each other intently, almost as if they could read the others’ thoughts._

_Jon felt his mouth go dry.  He’d heard men and women, young and old, confessing the act of self-love on such a regular basis that typically, hearing a parishioner mention the act of masturbation was just about as unsettling for him as hearing the weather report.  People are sinful.  That’s no surprise.  However, sitting before Sansa, hearing her tell him that she had pleasured herself multiple times…God help, him…_

_“And is that all?” Jon rasped, his voice abnormally low.  He coughed slightly to get his voice back to normal._

_“Yes, Father Jon,” Sansa replied breathlessly, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip unconsciously as her eyes lowered to Jon’s mouth, “Can you offer any words of wisdom?  I mean, you’re so young and handsome, it must be hard to – oh, oh no, Father Jon, I’m so sorry I said that!  I really shouldn’t have - ”_

_“It’s alright, Sansa,” Father Jon began as he studied her closely, neatly folding his hands in his lap, forcing himself to maintain his composure while attempting to offer counsel, “Please don’t be ashamed.  No one is immune to the passions of the flesh.  Priests included.  It is normal to have urges, yet as Catholics, we are called to commit ourselves to a life of chastity outside the bonds of marriage.  Pray to the Mother of our God to help give you strength.  Try not to give into them.  Seek pure, wholesome distractions from these thoughts when they arise.”_

_“Thank you, Father Jon, I will take your advice to heart,” Sansa murmured, biting her lip once again._

_“You’re welcome.  Any time,” Father Jon smiled as she mirrored his expression back to him._

_For what seemed like hours, the two sat in silence, simply drinking in each other’s presence.  When Sansa’s cell phone started buzzing from the depths of her black handbag that was laying on the floor by her feet, they both jumped.  They shot each other a look, which caused them to both crack.  Laughing at the situation, Jon tried to shake off the feeling that this woman was different than any he had ever known._

_“Well, Sansa,” Father Jon began, moving forward with the process of Sansa’s confession, “For your penance, say five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers.  Since you have freely confessed these sins in the presence of God, please bow your head and recite the Act of Contrition.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Sansa was floored.  Completely and totally stunned.

At Jon’s request, Sansa had read the letter that he had received from his birth father and listened to him tell her about his origins.  Upon hearing his back story, Sansa asked him a thousand questions, breeching the line of what is socially acceptable for polite conversation and diving head-first into being down-right nosy.  Thankfully, Jon didn’t seem to mind at all, answering each and every question as she hammered him, asking him about his childhood, his mother, his decision to enter the priesthood, and his first love.

He also related to her the events of his day, and she was extremely happy that both his meetings with Father Aemon and Father Davos had went well.  After such an emotional roller coaster, Jon told her that for the first time that he could remember, he felt a true sense of peace.  He told her that he felt complete freedom in having shared his story with Sansa, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders.  He wanted her to know _everything_ about him.  Jon needed her to know.  The one thing that he was quite certain of was that he did not want any lies between them as they began their relationship.  After today, Jon never wanted to be lied to again, nor did he ever wish to withhold the truth from anyone, especially Sansa.

While Jon felt elated, Sansa felt drained.  Even when Jon directly asked her how her day was when he had finished, obviously wanting to hear what she had to say, Sansa wasn’t certain if Jon was prepared to hear _her_ story.  If she told Jon that Harry not only snapped a photo of their kiss in the God’s Wood but had sent it to her this morning as a thinly veiled threat, Sansa was positive that Jon would blow his cool and want to find Harry.  And God help her, she would probably have to bail Jon out of jail tonight if she told him about the little graffiti love note that Harry had left for her on the whiteboard today.

So, instead of telling Jon what had happened earlier today, she chose not to tell him.  Sansa rationalized her painful decision by telling herself that she would reveal all to him later, maybe even tomorrow, once he had time to process everything that had changed so dramatically in his life today.  The man was prepared to walk out of the Church and not look back for her.  He was ready to abandon everything that he had ever known just to be with her.  And even though that was _exactly_ what she had desired for so long, Sansa felt guilty.  She felt guilty that she had allowed Harry’s threat in the God’s Wood to force Jon’s hand.  She felt guilty that Jon’s world was turning upside down because of her.  For being such a terrible Catholic when it came to controlling her lust, Sansa found it downright comical that she exceled at the guilt part.

“Sansa, are you alright?” Jon asked, a puzzled look on his face as he studied her expression.  “Have I worn out my welcome?” he joked, “Did I talk too much?”

“No, no, not at all!” Sansa replied, shaking her head emphatically, trying desperately to shake-off her self-doubts, “I’m just…I’m so sad, Jon.  And angry.  Angry at your father for taking off and never bothering to try to be a part of your life.  I’m sad that your mother didn’t tell you the truth so you had a chance to decide what to do about him.  Then your decision to leave the priesthood _and_ the Church for me…I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“It’s the only way, Sansa,” Jon pled, reaching to hold her hand.  They were sitting next to each other on Sansa’s suede couch, turned to face each other while their knees touched.  He gripped her hand snugly, pulling it to his heart, “Father Aemon may have given me a week to think about what I want to do, no doubt praying that I will come to my senses and walk away from you, but I’ll never give you up willingly.  I’m in love with you, and to be with you, I’ll have to abandon ship, at least for now.  I know what I’m in for once I renounce my vocation.”

“Do you?” she whispered, remembering how Father Jory was virtually crucified by the pious, hypocritical congregants back home in Winterfell once his secret had been exposed.  “Do you _really_ understand what you are giving up to be with me?  And what we will face?  Are you sure, Jon?  Because I don’t know how I will survive if you and I…if we pursue this, and then you regret it.  Or worse, you change your mind and return to the priesthood if they’d have you back.”

“I won’t do any of that, God as my witness,” Jon smiled tenderly, lifting her chin to raise her worried eyes to his, “I have spent a lifetime being the man that everyone else wants me to be, Sansa.  I’m through pretending that a life without the woman I love is worth it.  It’s not.”

“But, Jon, the scandal will be just - ”

“To hell with the scandal.  If you are by my side, I can face anything thrown at me.”

“I’ll lose my job.”

“You’ll find another one.”

“And you…what will you do?”

“I have some savings held back.  I will be fine until I can figure that out.”

Sansa stared deeply into Jon’s dark eyes.  The love reflected back to her was so intense, so raw…

“What about the Church, Jon?  You’re not just giving up your vocation.  You’d be abandoning your faith.  We both would.  We could never take communion, get married in the Church…”

Jon’s smiled faded slightly, but he didn’t break his gaze, “Yes, that’s all true.  And as much as it hurts to leave, I believe that I’ve made peace with that.  The whole laicization process takes years, Sansa.  _Years._   I mean, my request for dispensation has to travel all the way to the Pope, you know?  And once it’s determined that I left the Church to be with a woman, it will never be granted anyway.”

Sighing heavily, Sansa moved to hold Jon’s hand.  “So many people will hate us, Jon.  I want to be strong.  For you…for us.  I’m just so scared.”

“I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t a little scared, too,” Jon replied as he reached to tuck Sansa’s long copper hair behind her ear, “But this…all of this,” he declared, his voice cracking slightly as he waved his hand up and down his form, indicating his black vestments, “It’s who I _was_ , Sansa.  I can’t continue to pretend that this is the life I want any more.  _You_ are the life that I want.  You are the life that I will become.”  As his eyes explored her countenance, Jon’s jaw suddenly clenched and his eyes began to tear.  Swallowing hard, Jon tried to keep himself together as he stroked her fiery mane, “If I can’t have the Church and have you, then damn it all to hell, I choose you.  I will _not_ become my father, Sansa.  I will _not_ forsake you for the Church.  _Never_.”

As Jon’s resolve not to break down broke, Sansa threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace as he buried his face into her shoulder.  “Please, Jon,” she whimpered, clutching him as he hugged her firmly in return, “Don’t cry.  It will be OK.  We’ll figure out.  We’ll figure out together, yeah?”

Pulling on his head to make him look at her, Sansa brought his face to hers.  Tracing the outline of his beard, running her thumbs along his lips, using her fingertips to wipe the wetness from his eyes, she decided in that moment that she needed to make him forget about all of the worries of this world.  She needed to comfort him, to hold him, to make him understand that even though she was terrified of what may come, she wanted him more than anything she had ever wanted in her young life.

Jon’s hands found their way to her waist while they stared into each other’s eyes.  Slowly, tentatively, he leaned forward, touching his lips to hers.  Not sure what Sansa wanted or would allow, he started to pull away, but she drew him back to her, her hands buried in his curls, kissing him fiercely.  Encouraged by her level of intensity, Jon tilted his head and swiped his tongue along her lower lip.  Eagerly, she deepened their kiss, moaning as his hands found their way up her sides.  When Jon’s hands slid up the hem of her pale pink blouse, he stopped just as his fingertips touched the band of her bra.  Without speaking, he broke their kiss, panting as he studied her expression for any sign that she wanted him to stop.

Sansa simply smiled demurely, lowering her head slightly as she peeked at him through her lashes, “I don’t want to talk this time, Jon.  Touch me,” Sansa affirmed, leaning in to kiss his forehead, “Please touch me.”

Tentatively, Jon’s hands began to explore Sansa’s chest over her smooth, silky bra.  “Oh, Sansa,” he groaned as she wrapped her hands over his own, using his fingers to pull and tug at her flesh.  Jon’s pupils were blown wide with lust, his tongue darting out to trace his lower lip as he stared at her creamy décolletage, her nipples hardened inside her bra from his touch.

Quickly removing his hands, Jon grasped Sansa by the waist, pulling her onto his lap without warning, causing her to yelp in surprise.  Lifting her skirt, his hands made their way to her ass, squeezing her bottom, kneading her flesh as he raised his hips, his half-hard cock stiff and eagerly poking her through his slacks as she straddled him.

“Jon, please!” Sansa whined as she held onto his shoulders and rocked her hips slightly, rubbing her damp panties against him deliciously slow, “Don’t stop!”

“Are you sure?” Jon pled, watching her as she nervously bit her plump bottom lip, grinding herself into his crotch, “If we start this time, Sansa, I don’t think I can stop.”  He wanted to divest her of her clothing, to worship her body, to feel her envelop him completely.  Before he would do anything, though, Jon needed to hear her say the words.  He needed her to tell him that she wanted this just as much as he did.

Sansa’s self-doubts evaporated as she grew braver.  “I want this,” she whispered, lifting her blouse by the hem, tossing it behind her to the floor, “I want you.”  Reaching behind her, she undid the clasp of her bra, allowing the silky white fabric to fall off her shoulders as she removed it completely.  Bare from the waist up, Sansa gingerly dropped the bra onto the floor by Jon’s feet, letting him see her for the first time.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jon groaned, taking her breasts in his large hands, cupping them and gently molding them to his grip.  Leaning forward, he placed tender kisses to each breast first on the top and then around the sides, finally taking her left nipple into his mouth.

As he sucked and licked her hardened peak, Sansa threw her head back in sheer delight, clasping her hands once again in his curls, holding on for dear life.  “That feels so good,” she moaned when he released her nipple with a wet pop, travelling sideways to do the same to her other breast, “I’ve dreamed about you doing this,” she confessed.

“Is that so?” Jon chuckled slightly into her flesh before raising his head.  Staring her directly in the eyes, he reached toward her face, stroking her cheek as she leaned into his touch, “I’ve dreamed of you touching you, too.”

“This isn’t a dream, though,” Sansa replied, biting that bottom lip of hers again as she began to languidly undo the buttons on the front of his black dress shirt.

“No, this isn’t,” Jon smiled, feeling her nails lightly scratching his chest as she pulled his shirt from his pants, shoving it wide open as it hung from his shoulders.  The way her eyes widened at the sight of his form shouldn’t have caused him so much pride, but damn him if he didn’t enjoy surprising her so much.

“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” Sansa murmured, drinking in the sight of Jon’s muscular frame.  Her fingers carefully traced the ridges and planes of his pecs, feeling the hardened flesh.  Lightly she traced his abs, licking her lips unconsciously at the sight of the dark trail of hair that began under his navel and disappeared below his waistband.

“Sansa, I don’t have a lot of experience in this department,” Jon admitted sheepishly, knowing full well that she didn’t either.  “I’m not sure how long I can last if we - ”

Without a word, Sansa lowered her mouth to his, kissing him with unadulterated, raw passion.  Jon’s words died on the vine as she plundered his mouth, twisting and turning her head almost as if she wanted to devour him alive.  Catching on rapidly, he grabbed her by the backs of her thighs, easily lifting her along with him as he stood, laughing internally that his years spent trying to alleviate his passions by wearing himself out in the gym were finally paying off in spades.

“Down the hall,” she squeaked in between kisses, wrapping her long legs around his waist as he began to follow her directions, “Last door on the left.”  Jon recaptured her mouth, carrying her all the way to her bedroom, bouncing slightly off the doorframe as he entered her room.

Jon pulled back his kiss-swollen lips when he lowered Sansa onto her back on top of her bed.  Standing at the foot of her bed, his hooded eyes raking over her half-naked body, Jon silently removed his unbuttoned dress shirt, letting it fall at his feet.  Watching Jon intently, Sansa’s blue eyes widened when his hands undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and shoved his black slacks down to his ankles.  Toeing off his socks and shoes, Jon removed his pants, rising to his full height, now clad in nothing but a skin-tight pair of white boxer briefs that honestly left _nothing_ to the imagination.

Biting her lip in anticipation, Sansa lifted her hips, tacitly asking Jon to rid her of the rest of her clothing, and to her amusement, Jon jumped at the chance.  Pulling her chocolate brown knit skirt down her legs, he unceremoniously tossed it over his left shoulder, grinning from ear-to-ear when Sansa giggled at his behavior.  “May I?” he rasped, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her white, silky panties.

“Please,” Sansa nodded furiously, desperately wanting to clamp her legs together when he began to pull the fabric over her hips and down her thighs.  Only one man had seen her naked until now.  The wrong man, that is.  Willing herself to be calm, she forced her legs to relax under his gaze, letting them flop open, baring herself completely.

Standing up to his full height once again, Jon unceremoniously tossed her panties over his shoulder as before with her skirt, his pupils blown wide as he gawked at her thatch of auburn curls and her glistening womanhood.  This was it.  The moment he’d been dreaming of for so long now.  Yet, Jon couldn’t help but feel extraordinarily nervous.  He’d only been with one woman before Sansa, and Ygritte was far from a blushing virgin.  She had led the charge most of the time they had coupled.  Sansa didn’t have a whole lot of experience either, and her only encounter was with that selfish prick of an ex-boyfriend of hers.  Although Jon didn’t know it for certain, he was quite confident that Harry didn’t bother to make sure Sansa felt good at all.

And that was something Jon would _definitely_ make sure happened tonight.

“Are you _sure_ , Sansa?” Jon asked, his voice deep and husky, giving her one more chance to back out now before he pounced.

“I’m sure,” she panted as she sat up quickly, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed.  Reaching out to Jon, she cupped his obvious erection through his underwear, an action which caused him to groan.  “Let me see you, Jon.  All of you.”  Looking up into his darkened eyes, Sansa smiled when he couldn’t reply with anything more than a nod of acquiescence.  Slipping her fingers into his waistband, she slowly tugged his boxer briefs downward, gasping slightly as his long, thick cock surrounded by a patch of coarse brown curls sprang free.  She stared at his smooth skin for a few seconds before she reached out to take him into her right hand.

“Sansa…oh, God,” Jon moaned as she slowly stroked him, pumping slightly as she continued to study his expression.

“Do you like this?” Sansa asked shyly, curious and aroused all at the same time.  When she had allowed Harry into her bed, she never once tried to touch him.  To be honest, she had been a little frightened of his member.  She merely glanced at Harry’s dick when he had undressed and stroked himself a few times before he shoved himself inside of her.  Harry had taken the lead from the get-go that night, not bothering with any foreplay or to prepare her for his invasion.  Frankly, when she had seen Harry naked, she had wanted to look away in both shame and disgust.  With Jon…Sansa wished that he would _never_ put his clothes back on.

“Yes…yes, oh yes, I do,” Jon replied hoarsely as her hand pumped him slowly, “But if you keep that up, sweet girl, I don’t think we will…you know…”

“I see,” Sansa grinned, leaning forward and boldly placing a kiss on the slit, licking the tip wet with his precum before pulling back, “Well, what shall we do then, hmm?”

Jon’s whole body jerked in response to her mouth touching his straining cock, “Oh, I’ll show you!” he promised, scooping her up into his arms and plopping her down onto her bed with a bounce.  Sansa squealed in glee, shrieking slightly when he yanked her by her ankles until her ass rested right on the edge of the bed.  Her nervous, curious wide eyes staring at him, Jon grinned lasciviously as he dropped to his knees, parting her legs to rest between her thighs, “I want to make you feel good, Sansa.  Will you let me?”

Raising herself up onto her elbows, Sansa licked her lips, knowing full well what Jon intended.  No one had ever pleasured her like this.  “Yes,” was the only word she could shove out of her mouth as she watched Jon lower his head between her legs.  “Oh…oh, God,” she murmured when Jon’s tongue licked her entire slit from her hole to her clit.  Diving in with all his might, he clamped his hands onto her thighs, pushing down slightly to open her wider to his hungry mouth as he began to feast.

“Jon!  Please!” Sansa cried out when his tongue began to flick her swollen nub and his fingers parted her folds.  Throwing her head backward onto the bed, her hands grabbed his head tightly, not knowing if she was hurting him or not, but Sansa needed something to hold onto while he continued his oral ministrations.  Of their own accord, her hips began to rock slightly into his face.  She could feel a sheen of sweat forming on her forehead and between her breasts while Jon sucked her clit into his mouth, releasing it for a brief second before swirling his tongue over it, repeating the process over and over again.  When Jon inserted a finger inside of her, she gasped, raising her hips off the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweet girl,” Jon chuckled, pausing momentarily to look up toward Sansa’s face, “I’ve got you.”  Sansa opened her eyes long enough to see him staring in awe at her.  His chin-length curls were a hot mess thanks to her hands, his beard was slick from her juices, and damn her if he didn’t look completely pleased with himself right now.  Before Sansa could say anything in response, Jon dove back in for seconds, helping himself to her cunt once more as he curled his finger inside of her, searching for the secret spot only Sansa had ever found while in the secluded darkness of her bedroom.

Damn her if didn’t take him less than a minute to find the little sucker and tweak the crap out of it.

“Jon…oh, shit…please, Jon, I’m…JON!” she shouted as she came hard and fast, the pleasure virtually drowning her as she peaked.  Helping her ride out the shockwaves of her orgasm, Jon lapped up her release, sucking her folds a few more times before he slowly, carefully withdrew his finger.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Sansa Stark?” Jon whispered, licking her arousal from his finger before tracing small circles on her thighs with his other hand.

Sansa didn’t answer.  She merely giggled, raising herself up onto her elbows once again.  Smiling down at Jon, who was still kneeling between her legs, she grabbed his shoulders, “Get up here.  _Now_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jon purred as he rose to his feet and slowly stalked forward.  Crawling over her, he straddled her upper legs with his own, caging her in with his forearms on either side of her head while she lay back against her pillows.

“I…uh, there are a couple of, you know…condoms…” Sansa mumbled, waving her hand in the general direction of her nightstand.  God help her, she did _not_ want to remember why they were there or who had left them there in the first place.  And she _definitely_ did not want Jon to ask about them, either.

“OK,” Jon smiled, sensing her embarrassment, feeling a little bashful himself even after what he had just done.  Leaning forward and across her body slightly as he jerked open the drawer, he grabbed one of the condoms.  Carefully sitting back on his haunches, Jon fumbled with the condom briefly before managing to unwrap the cursed thing, shucking the foil packaging to the bedroom floor as he began to slowly roll it down his stiff shaft.  “If you want me to stop, I will,” he added, lowering himself between her legs, gently nudging her thighs apart with his knee.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Sansa smiled as she brushed the sweaty curls from his face, “I’m yours, Jon.  Take me.”

Taking his cock into his right hand, Jon leaned on his left forearm, lining himself up at her entrance.  Locking eyes with Sansa, he carefully, slowly pushed forward until just the head was inside of her.  “Jesus, Sansa…” he moaned loudly, losing himself to the sensation of her warm, slick pussy swallowing him so easily.

“Move, please,” Sansa begged, grasping onto his shoulders tightly, “You won’t hurt me.  I won’t break.  Please, just…move.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Jon pushed forward agonizingly slow until he was fully seated inside of her.  The feeling of being buried inside of Sansa was both too much and not enough all at once.  “I love you, Sansa,” he whispered into her ear as he gently pulled back, leaving just the head of his cock inside of her.  “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she beamed in return as he entered her fully once again, her hands languidly tracing the pathway from his shoulders to his back with her fingertips, pulling him impossibly close to her chest.  “Make me yours.”

Gazing so far into Sansa’s crystal blue eyes, Jon imagined he could see into her very soul.  His pupils blown wide with desire, he lost his ability to think rationally.  Without further ado, he began to rock his hips, pumping slowly at first, but increasing his speed faster and faster while watching her mouth open and her eyes shut as he began to take her in earnest.  Jon almost winced in pain when her long, pink nails dug sharply into his back as she clung to him.  By the way she panted, moaned, and writhed underneath him, he could tell that she was close.  Reaching down between where they were joined, Jon began to massage the little pearl hidden inside her folds, hoping he could bring her to completion once more before he lost control. 

“Jon, yes!  Don’t stop!  Right there!” Sansa commanded, her hips bucking into his hand as he pounded into her.  She felt like she was having an out of body experience.  Not only was she astounded at how wanton she was behaving with Jon, but she was also shocked at how utterly amazing the act of sex felt with him.  Jon loved her.  He wanted to please her and bring her pleasure.  Knowing that made what they were doing so damn special, Sansa felt like her heart was about to beat itself right out of her chest.  With her eyes clamped shut, she felt tears dare to form.  Before long, she was screaming his name as she came, wrapping her legs so tightly around his back that he thought she would suffocate him.

Feeling her inner walls contracting and pulsing around his overly-stimulated cock sent him over the edge.  “Ungh…Sansa, please…look at me,” he begged, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he felt his release about to overtake him.  When Sansa opened her eyes, that was it.  Jon’s orgasm all but consumed him as he let go, his lungs constricting and his eyes slamming shut as the waves of pleasure rocked his entire body.  He could feel Sansa’s hands cupping his face, rubbing his beard, sliding down his chest.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jon was able to have a coherent thought.  Pulling out carefully, Jon collapsed onto his side, desperately trying to avoid crushing Sansa below him.  She immediately rolled over to her side, staring intently at him, grinning widely.

For a few minutes, neither Jon nor Sansa spoke, neither wanting to break the spell.  Gently reaching out to her, Jon stroked her hair before rolling onto his back and pulling her to his body.  Resting her head on his chest, Sansa toyed with the light dusting of hair between his pecs, scratching her nails lightly along his well-defined stomach.

Sighing deeply, Sansa smiled feebly as she finally broke their silence, “I wish you didn’t have to go back to the rectory tonight.”

“I know,” Jon mumbled as he petted the top of her head.  Suddenly, a terribly wicked thought danced through his semi-conscious, post-orgasmic brain, “Hmmm...maybe I won’t go back just yet.  That is, if you’d like me to stay here with you a bit.”

He could almost feel the gust of wind emanating from Sansa’s body as she sat straight up in her bed, her icy blue eyes so wide, looking at him like she had just seen a ghost.  “You mean it?” she gasped, not bothering to cover her bare breasts as she turned to stare at him.

Gaping at the sight of her creamy, lightly freckled skin, her pink nipples taut and stiff from the cool air, Jon groaned.  Her copper mane, all wild and askew, drifted down her back to her waist, partially cascading down her left shoulder.  “Sweet Mother of God…how can I refuse you anything, you bloody siren?”  Before Sansa knew what hit her, Jon pounced.  In one extremely fluid motion, he spun the two of them with Sansa yelping in surprise until she landed flat on her back with his muscular body pressing her into the mattress.  “Do you see what you do to me, love?” he cooed as he lowered his mouth to her neck, grazing his teeth along her pulse point.

“Holy…fuck, Jon,” she cursed, shutting her eyes in pleasure as he continued to lightly nip and suck her flesh, feeling his hardening cock dragging along her thigh.  Locking her hands tightly into his curls, Sansa grinned as he lifted his eyes to meet hers.  “I would love it if you stayed with me.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning down to place a gentle, chaste kiss on her lips, pulling back to grin at her, “You’ve not grown tired of my company yet?”

“Not yet,” she joked, pushing Jon’s curls from his face, smiling as if she had not a care in the world other than lying in his strong arms, “I’m not tired of you at _all._ ”

“You don’t say?” Jon whispered seductively as he lowered his eyes to her breasts, darting them back quickly to her eyes, “Well, it appears I haven’t yet done my duty then.”

“Jon, what are you talking…oh, God…” Sansa rasped, the question dying on her lips as Jon lowered his mouth and began trailing down the valley of breasts, headed southward as his fingers found her moist folds once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company." - Mark Twain


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the early morning hours, Father Jon and Sansa linger in bed after spending a glorious, passion-filled night together. While Sansa makes coffee, Father Jon showers. And when he remembers to turn on his cell phone, Father Jon is horrified to hear who left a message for him late last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Jon needs to get his finely sculpted ass back to the rectory - like, now!

_“Fuck…Sansa,” Jon panted, his brown eyes blown wide with desire as Sansa carefully straddled his hips, impaling herself as her wet, slightly sore cunt slid deliciously slow down the length of his rock-hard shaft, “That’s it, baby…take your time.”_

_“Jon…I…” she barely choked out, stilling her body briefly as she adjusted to feeling Jon’s cock so deep inside her as it rubbed along her inner walls at this angle.  As she finally seated herself fully onto his lap, his hands gripping her hips gently to guide her movements, Sansa braced herself with her palms flat against Jon’s taut stomach, smiling widely as she began to enjoy the new position, “It feels so different like this!”_

_“You have no idea,” Jon groaned, his eyes shutting momentarily as she shifted slightly, leaning forward even more to grind herself against his pelvis, “Go on.  Ride me, sweet girl.”  With his encouragement, Sansa began to move, easy at first, rocking back and forth, allowing Jon to lead her.  Before too long, Sansa found a rhythm that felt exquisite.  She shut her eyes, losing herself to the new sensations of being on top for the first time, sliding forward slightly as her hands scooted up his abs toward his chest.  When Jon braced his feet flat on the bed, barely raising his hips in time with her undulations, Sansa gasped, her blue eyes blown wide and full of wonder.  Grinning from ear to ear, he slid his hands up her body, cupping her breasts as they swayed and bounced with their joined movements._

_As Jon’s long cock tweaked that hidden sweet spot deep inside her, Sansa’s panting increased.  Emboldened by her secret lover’s praises, she decided to unlock the hidden temptress that she had buried inside her when they had first made love.  Throwing her head backward, Sansa’s auburn curls flowed freely down her back as she reached up to wind her own hands in her hair, all the while moaning in ecstasy._

_Sansa was a vision to behold.  Lost in the glory of watching her chase down her release, Jon studied her every movement.  He gazed upon her in awe, noting the way she parted her mouth, biting her bottom lip from time to time as she circled her hips, speeding up her movements as her orgasm rapidly approached.  Letting go of her breasts, he clutched her thigh with one hand, the other rubbing her swollen nub vigorously, desperate to bring her to completion since his was coming much faster and harder than he ever dreamed possible._

_“Sansa, come for me again,” Jon breathed heavily, his voice deep and raw, “Can you, pretty girl?”_

_“Yes!  Don’t stop…doing…that…mmm, yes, yes!” she shouted, grasping her own breasts roughly as the waves of her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave.  Seeing Sansa come undone was all it took to send Jon over the edge, falling down swiftly into the sweet, sweet abyss._

_“Ungh, fuck!” Jon barked, grasping Sansa’s waist just this side of painful as he came, rising his hips fully off the bed, an action that caused his lover to shriek in surprise and tumble sideways, landing on the queen-size bed beside him with a bounce.  Laughing loudly, Sansa threw her arm over her face, giggling raucously as Jon slowly rolled to his side.  Highly amused as he propped himself up on one elbow, he began to trace his fingertips across her bare stomach as he asked her, “So, are you tired yet?”_

_“Yes!” Sansa replied as her laughs subsided, removing her arm and reaching out to cup his cheek, stroking his soft beard with her fingers, “God, yes!”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

As the earliest morning light began to creep into Sansa’s bedroom through the silky curtains draped over her window, she began to stir, awakening to the sounds of Jon snoring softly beside her.  Slowly she stretched her aching body, feeling the burn between her legs thanks to the three rounds of lovemaking she and Jon had enjoyed last night.  Sansa could feel his strong arm tossed across her waist, his hand neatly tucked under hip.  He was holding her possessively close to his chest, so snugly that she couldn’t help but smile.  Jon was hanging on to her like she was his personal teddy bear.

She could also feel his half-hard cock nuzzling her backside, greeting her good morning before he was even fully conscious.

Not wanting to wake him, Sansa bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to giggle.  She tried to gently remove his arm, thinking how she would like to slip into the kitchen and make some coffee for the two of them, but no luck.  Instead of releasing his vice-like hold, Jon only pulled her tighter, mumbling something incoherently while still asleep, grinding his growing erection directly into the crack of her ass.  Giving up for the moment, she began to stroke his forearm as his movements ceased.  In the still mostly dark room, Sansa sighed contentedly while reliving in her mind the glory of this stolen moment.

Jon was still a priest, and together they had willfully broken his promise that he had made on the day of his ordination.  Sansa knew as soon as he rose and dressed in the black suit laying somewhere in the darkness on her bedroom floor that they would have to publicly revert back to the formality of clergyman and parishioner.  Sure, Jon wanted to charge forward, guns ablaze, ready to shout out his love for her from the roof of Our Lady of the Wall.  Sansa knew better, though.  Even if they were madly in love, the road to happiness was going to be extraordinarily rough and bumpy.

Sighing deeply, Sansa had no regrets.  Not one.  Yet, she couldn’t stop her brain from worrying about what they had done.  She wanted Jon, body and soul, but when he finally woke, would _he_ have regrets?  Would he look at her differently now that the moment of passion was complete?

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Jon murmured, his breath hot in her ear.

“I thought you were still asleep,” she whispered softly, closing her eyes in delight as he began to slowly rub his cock against her backside once again, albeit this time fully intentional.

“I was,” he continued as the hand he had wedged under her hip began to travel up her flat stomach, drifting downward as his fingers grazed the copper curls above her womanhood, “But then I could feel your body moving…and then this happened,” he added, punctuating his words with a slight thrust.

“Jon…” Sansa giggled, “Mercy but you’re a horny one!”

“I have been without the pleasure of a woman’s body for some time, pretty girl,” Jon rasped, the sleep still thick in his voice, “I’m a man starved.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely sated.”  With that comment, Jon slipped a finger inside her, languidly pumping in and out of her already damp cunt.

“I…we should probably…get up,” she moaned, spreading her legs to allow him better access to her nether region.  “But I _really_ don’t want to get out of this bed.”

“Then don’t,” Jon growled as he began to kiss her neck, biting softly at her pulse point as he slipped another finger inside her, increasing the speed and changing the angle of his thrusts slightly so his palm rubbed her clit.

Writhing and wiggling, Sansa scrubbed her ass against Jon’s fully erect cock as she moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside her body.  Feeling the heat burning deep within her belly, she knew it wouldn’t take her long if Jon kept working her like he was doing at the moment.  Reaching behind her, she ran her hands through his soft curls, closing her eyes tightly as she rocked her hips, grinding her ladybits into his hand.

“I…I…mmm, Jon,” she panted, lost in the sensation of Jon bringing her to completion simply with his touch.  Only a few more moments passed before Sansa was moaning his name as her orgasm overtook her.  Completely spent, she slumped forward as Jon withdrew his fingers.  Rolling onto her belly, groaning incoherently into her pillow, Sansa turned her head toward him.  She just about couldn’t breathe at the sight of what he was about to do.

“Good morning,” Jon chuckled darkly, raising his wet fingers to his mouth and sucking her juices off of them.

“Holy... _damn_ , Jon,” Sansa gasped.  She just couldn’t believe how much Jon liked doing that.

Throwing his head back in laughter, Jon quickly leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, “That good?”

“My turn, mister,” Sansa declared boldly, rising to her knees and shoving Jon onto his back.

“Your turn?” Jon snickered, licking his lips in anticipation as Sansa lowered her mouth to his chest, kissing her way down his body agonizingly slow, “I thought you just had your turn.”

“Yup,” she muttered, pulling her mouth away, popping the “p” just a little extra for effect, “I so did.”  Without another word, Sansa grasped his erection in her right hand, placing a gentle kiss to the tip before tracing the entire rim of the head with her tongue.

“Sweet Lord,” Jon hissed as Sansa suddenly enveloped his cock into her warm mouth, sucking hard as she drew her head up and down his thick length while continuing to pump with her hand.  Having Sansa’s mouth on his aching cock was just as he had imagined it would feel while in the darkened seclusion of his bedroom.  Actually, it was even more amazing than he had imagined.  Winding his hands into her messy sex hair, Jon held on firmly but did not guide her movements.  He let her decide what she wanted to do with him.  And damn him all to hell, the pleasure she was extracting from him was worth a thousand years spent roasting in purgatory.

Sansa had never put a man’s cock in her mouth until now, and even though she felt completely baffled by the entire act, she was determined to give it her best effort.  Willing herself to relax her jaw, she let go with her hand, slowly sliding down further, testing her boundaries to see just how far she could take him.  To her surprise, she almost made it to the base before she had to pull back in fear of choking on his dick.

“Damn…” Jon groaned as she again placed her hand on his member, pumping with all her might as she dragged her tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock from base to tip.  When she once again took him fully into her mouth, Jon lost control.  Sweet baby Jesus, her mouth felt _glorious._ He began to fuck her mouth in earnest, bucking his hips as he threw his head back into the pillow.  Trying her best to keep up with his movements, Sansa grabbed Jon’s hips, allowing him to thrust inside her mouth as he needed.  She could sense Jon’s body tensing as he pumped faster and faster.  “Sansa!” he cried out, “I’m…I’m going to…ungh, you need to get off before…Sansa, please…”

Sansa knew what he meant.  He was about to come in her mouth, and he wanted her to get off him so he could release in his hand.  But, like the stubborn Stark that she was, she didn’t budge.  Instead, she closed her eyes and slackened her jaw, managing to swallow him down to the root.

“FUCK!” Jon shouted as he came, spilling his warm seed down Sansa’s throat.  Clutching her head in his hands, his back slightly arched off the bed as he rode out the wave of his orgasm.  Yet, Sansa continued to hold her position, determined to show him she adored his body as much as he did hers.  When he was finally able to open his eyes, he was met with the sight of Sansa sitting on the bed, trying her damnedest to swallow her mouthful of his salty release with as dignified an air as she could muster.  “You’re _incredible_ , did you know that?” Jon managed to squeak, chuckling at the sound of his own voice.  He sounded like he was thirteen again and his voice was changing.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her small hand, Sansa shot him a painfully sinful grin, “Yes, but a lady doesn’t every tire of hearing about how wonderful she is.”  Her eyes darted over to her alarm clock.  6:23 A.M.

“Come here,” Jon moaned, pulling her down to him by her upper arms.  Lying beside him, tucking her body against his, Sansa laid her head down on his chest, resting her ear directly over his heart.  Aimlessly, her hand traced the outline of his chest and stomach.

“It’s getting late, Jon,” she choked out, trying to sound brave but failing miserably, “It’s almost 6:30.  You have to get back to the rectory before anyone finds out that you’ve gone AWOL.”

“In a minute,” he sighed, “I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Sansa agreed as she swallowed hard, wondering how in the name of the Holy Ghost she was supposed to go work this morning, supposed to focus on teaching several classes of students the fine art of Latin, when all she wanted to do was stay naked in bed with Jon all day.

“You’re right, though,” he groaned, “I should get a move on.  Poor Sam…damn me to hell, I’ll have some explaining to do when I’m not there for breakfast in seven minutes.”

“Six, actually,” Sansa taunted, her head bouncing up and down as he laughed.

“Fine, I’m moving,” Jon huffed in mock indignation as he scooted out of her arms and off the bed.  Standing at the side of her bed, he began to root around the floor for his clothes.

“You can take a shower here, if you want,” Sansa offered, biting her bottom lip as she caught a full view of his pert posterior while he was bent over, “I can make you some coffee to go.”

With his arms stuffed full of his clerical vestments and day-old boxer briefs, Jon rose to his full height, his head tilted to the side, his brown eyes alight with mischief.  “It’s a deal.”

“Help yourself,” she smiled as he walked to her bathroom, “Towels are in the small linen closet.”

“Thanks,” Jon grinned, his cheeks flushed slightly once he realized that Sansa was unabashedly checking him out as he stood in the bathroom doorway.  After what they had done all night and just now…he laughed at himself for being embarrassed that he was completely naked in her presence.

While Jon was in the shower, Sansa leapt out of bed, feeling the full effect of her night of debauchery as she rose to her feet.  Her private parts were sore, she could feel a dull ache in her lower back, and there were traces of beard burn at the tops of her inner thighs.  Padding over to her pink fuzzy robe hanging behind her bedroom door, she slipped into it before heading to the kitchen to make coffee as promised.  After getting the pot brewing, she leaned against her kitchen counter, trying to figure out where she and Jon were headed in their relationship now that they had slept together.

As Sansa pondered the abrupt change in her relationship with Jon, he took a quick shower, reliving in his mind the glorious, wonderful night spent with the woman he loved.  The hot water felt delicious as he sluiced his face with her fruity smelling body wash.  Once clean, he hopped out of the shower, drying himself with one of the fluffy rainbow striped bath towels he had found in her linen closet.  Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, his wet curls clinging to his forehead, he stared at himself in her bathroom mirror.

Jon was happy.  He was ecstatic, really.  He was in love.

And as he entered Sansa’s bedroom, smelling the wonderful scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting into the bedroom while only clad in her girly bath towel, his smile evaporated when he finally remembered to turn on his cell phone and saw what awaited him.

Ten messages.  Six from Mrs. Mordane.  Three from Sam.

And one from Bishop Thorne.

 _Shit…this isn’t going to be good,_ Jon grimaced as he hit play.  While listening to Mrs. Mordane’s increasingly fevered messages left throughout the afternoon and early evening, wondering where he was and why he had neither returned to the office after his visit with Father Jaime nor had returned to the rectory later that evening, Jon slowly began to comprehend just how rash his decision to stay with Sansa last night had been.  How utterly selfish that choice had been.  Sam’s messages were even more upsetting because Jon realized in that moment that he hadn’t bothered to call Sam at all yesterday, even after Sansa had reminded him late last night as they lay together in bed, a messy, sweaty pile of blissed-out nakedness.  His best friend was left swinging in the wind with absolutely no clue as to how Jon’s day went.  Or night, for that matter.

Jon closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead in shame when he listened to Sam’s final message.  Sighing heavily, Sam vowed to keep Mrs. Mordane placated as long as possible.  Understandably, Sam was on the verge freaking out with worry himself, yet he tried to remain rational, even though he had accidentally let the f-word slip out in his litany of chastisements of Jon in the second message.

And when Jon listened in horror to Bishop Thorne’s terse message left at an ungodly hour late last night, ironically left during one of Jon’s rounds of love making with Sansa, the furious bishop had commanded Jon to call the church office _this minute_ or he would personally drive to Our Lady of the Wall from his quarters at the diocesan offices first thing in the morning and personally sort this farce out himself.

Jon felt a lump in his throat.  After talking with Father Aemon, Father Davos, and then that wretched Father Jaime, Jon had gone to his mother’s grave and then ran to Sansa’s arms.  He had blown off his duties at the Church, left Sam in the dark to worry about his whereabouts and to possibly take the fall for Jon’s irresponsibility, and now Jon had stirred up a hornet’s nest at the diocesan offices.  This was assuredly _not_ looking good.

_Merciful mother…I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama that I’ve completely shirked my duties.  And Sam…oh no, Dear God, please let me not have taken him down with me.  He’ll get in trouble just for being my friend…I have to get back!  And Bishop Thorne…shit!_

In record speed, Jon threw on his clothes, socks, and shoes, folding his dress jacket over his forearm, quickly exiting Sansa’s bedroom and making his way down the hall toward her living room.

“Jon?” Sansa asked, her ginger eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he placed his cell phone down on the bar that separated Sansa’s kitchen and living room so he could slip into his black dress coat, “What’s wrong?  I thought you wanted to stay for - ”

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he apologized as he shoved his arms into his coat, grabbing his truck keys off Sansa’s coffee table where he had left them the day before, “I have to leave.  I need to get back to the rectory right now.  Sam could be in trouble…and it’s my fault…really, I have to go.”  As Jon hurried to open her front door, he turned to smile at her, rushing forward to place a quick kiss on her lips, “I’ll call you in a bit, just as soon as I get everything sorted out at the office, OK?”

“OK,” Sansa mumbled, confused by Jon’s abrupt departure and his lack of explanation, “Sure, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I really am sorry I can’t stay,” Jon sighed, afraid that Sansa would take his exit as a sign that he was either feeling guilty or having second thoughts, “I wish that I could.”

“Of course,” Sansa smiled feebly, feeling self-conscious and unsure of Jon’s motives for running out the door, “It’s fine.  I understand.”

“Thank you,” Jon smiled as he planted another quick kiss on her lips before exiting her apartment.  Left on her own, Sansa stood in her empty living room, sighing heavily as her thoughts started to travel down an extremely dark pathway.

 _Jon said that he had to get back to the office, you idiot,_ she chastised herself, _He wasn’t trying to get away from you.  He loves you.  He’s the parish priest, for crying out loud.  Of course, he had to leave!  Stop worrying about nothing._

Taking a deep breath, Sansa turned toward her kitchen with the intention of pouring herself a cup of coffee when she noticed Jon’s cell phone still resting on the bar.  Grabbing it in her hands and running out the door, Sansa raced down the steps, catching Jon just as he was backing out of the parking space in front of her apartment.

“Sansa?” Jon asked as he rolled down his window.

“You forgot this,” she puffed, trying to catch her breath, waving his cell phone in her hand.

“I’m so sorry!” Jon laughed, taking his phone as she handed it to him through his window.

“You can make it up to me later,” Sansa grinned, cocking a ginger eyebrow in challenge.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jon said as he reached out to her, gently pulling her to him through the open truck window for a quick, chaste kiss.

“Go,” Sansa smiled, feeling reassured about why he was leaving, “I’ll see you later.”

As Jon backed up and waved through his open window, she could kick herself for being so stupid.  Walking back to her apartment, Sansa laughed at herself.  She had doubted Jon and his intentions.  If anything, she should know by now that he was a man of his word.  Scoffing at herself for being such a worry wart, Sansa enjoyed a quick cup of coffee before heading to the shower to remove the smell of sex and ease some of her sore muscles.  Once out of the shower, she completed her morning routine in record time, throwing on some clean work clothes and throwing together a quick lunch for later.  Grabbing a protein bar from the pantry, Sansa tossed it into her lunch sack for a fast breakfast on the way to school.

Feeling like she was on cloud nine, Sansa unplugged her cell phone from its spot on the bar, swiping the screen to turn it on before heading out the door.  Seeing she had a new message, she tapped her screen to open it, grinning as she imagined that it was probably Margaery sniffing around for details.  Sure enough, it was her best friend.

_Margaery:  So, I didn’t hear from you last night…_

_Sansa:  I was busy._

_Margaery:  Tied up, were you?_

_Sansa:  Why are we friends again??_

_Margaery:  Someone needs to keep your slightly tainted virginal innocence in balance._

_Sansa:  Sorry that didn’t work out so well for you._

As Sansa hit send, she grinned deviously, knowing that that little response would blow up her phone line.  Sure enough, her cell phone rang almost instantly.

“Details, Stark,” Margaery purred when Sansa accepted the call, “And don’t give me that ‘I have to get to work’ bullshit, either.  Talk and drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you think Bishop Thorne will be an understanding, patient sort of man? Anyone? Nope, I didn't think so.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon arriving at Our Lady of the Wall, Father Jon heads to his office and overhears Bishop Thorne talking with Father Sam. Once he makes his presence known, Father Jon must deal with the prelate's utter displeasure and inquiry into Jon's whereabouts the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall we see how Father Jon handles himself in the presence of the bishop?

_“Father Davos speaks very highly of you, young man, as do all of the good sisters and layman staff at both the Church and the school.  You went there yourself as a lad, eh?” Bishop Thorne smirked, glancing down at Father Jon’s small dossier, rifling through a few pages before returning his hard stare to Jon’s face._

_“Yes, Your Excellency,” Father Jon replied, inhaling and exhaling slowly to try to calm his frazzled nerves, “I am a lifelong member of this parish.”  Well into the second hour of his grueling interview with first the presbyteral council and now Bishop Thorne, the man who would ultimately decide Jon’s fate, the young priest felt the sweat beading down his spine and the blood beginning to pound in his brain.  Father Davos was scheduled to retire in less than three months, and still the crusty older clergyman had not selected a replacement priest to fill Father’s Davos black dress shoes once he left Our Lady of the Wall.  Jon wanted this position so badly that he would tolerate Bishop Thorne’s snarky comments and smug demeanor all day and night if it meant that Jon could stay in Hardhome.  It was the only home he’d ever known._

_“Yes, of course,” the older priest added while leaning back in his humungous black leather chair, tossing the thin, manilla folder onto the top of his black and gold credenza, “I do believe I remember meeting your mother at the Our Ladies of Charity annual fundraiser several years ago.  A striking woman, she was.  Soft spoken.  Had hair and eyes just like yours, if I remember correctly.”_

_Clearing his throat as he willed himself neither to glare at his superior nor show any signs of irritation at the direction this conversation might be headed, Jon simply put on his best fake smile and said, “Thank you, yes, she was an amazing woman in countless ways, God rest her soul.”_

_“I don’t remember meeting your father, though,” Bishop Thorne wondered smugly, obviously feigning ignorance as to the true nature of Jon’s parentage, or lack thereof, if one were being accurate in its description._

_“No, Your Excellency, you wouldn’t have met him,” was all Jon could manage to choke out before feeling the urge to reach across the desk and smack the man as he sat there passing judgment on him and his mother.  Biting his tongue till he tasted the metallic taste of his own blood, Jon prayed hard and fast that God would help him keep his imprudent mouth shut._

_“Why do you think that you are qualified to run an entire parish and oversee the operations of its attached school?” Bishop Thorne asked as his eyes narrowed, studying Jon as if he were hoping Jon would make a mistake or slip up any minute._

_Jon smiled.  He was ready for this line of questioning since he had practiced extensively on how to conduct himself during this very interview for the Head Pastor position at the Church with both his mentor, Father Davos, and with his buddy and fellow priest, Sam, who was scheduled to interview tomorrow for the Associate Pastor job._

_“The Church has seen a steady decline in both attendance and membership over the last decade here in Hardhome,” Jon began, “Father Davos has done an outstanding job of leading our parish for years, but he himself has spoken many times from the pulpit that Church as a whole needs more young men to both enter the priesthood and to serve within the parishes.  Our demographics are changing as well, since we are seeing a tremendous influx of both college-age and young working professionals enter the area.”  Pleased with his introduction, Jon went in for the jugular, hoping to seal the deal in the bishop’s eyes, “Although I am young, I believe it is both my youthful energy and my dedication to the people of Hardhome that will help me to lead this parish into the future.”_

_“Do you know what leadership means, Father Jon?” Bishop Thorne sniffed as he sneered at the younger man of the cloth, staring hard into the young priest’s dark eyes that were filling rapidly with anger._

_Shaking his head vigorously, Jon answered, “Yes, Your Excellency, I believe I do.”_

_“You’re what, 26?  Maybe 27?” the bishop chuckled, looking around the room, tacitly encouraging the other members of the council to join him in his derision of the eager young priest sitting before him, “I highly doubt that.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Slamming his truck into park, Jon sighed heavily.  As soon as he arrived at the Church, pulling into the parking lot and into his normal space in front of the church office, Jon spotted the bishop’s enormous black Cadillac parked in one of the visitor’s spaces.

 _Fantastic,_ Jon grumbled to himself as he hopped out of his truck, making the sign of the cross to calm his nerves, _God forgive me.  Please help me, Lord, to face the bishop this morning and to remain calm.  And patient.  Father, help me to be patient._

Walking into the building and down the corridor to the reception area, he could overhear a rather terse, heated discussion already underway.  Slowing down to ease into the ongoing debate on his location, Jon listened to his best friend try to save his sorry ass.

“Are you telling me, young man, that Father Jon is _still_ nowhere to be found?”  Bishop Thorne huffed.

“Uh…yes, Your Excellency, that is correct,” Father Sam replied, the sound of him clearing his throat echoing down the hallway.  “However, I’m quite certain that he’s on his way here.  I left him a message this morning - ”

“Yes, yes, you told me that already,” Bishop Thorne sighed angrily, “Mercy on my soul, this is a terribly vexing day already, and I’ve not even had my breakfast.”

“Bishop Thorne,” Father Sam continued, his voice wavering slightly as he tried to keep his irritation under control, “I assure you, Father Jon will be here soon with a perfectly logical reason for why he did not return messages yesterday.  Surely, you don’t need to wait for him.  I’d be more than happy to call you once he- ”

“Has _anyone_ seen or heard from our young AWOL priest since yesterday afternoon?” the bishop asked, the exasperation thick in his voice.

“No, Father Jon hasn’t been seen or heard from anyone here at church or at the school since he left after Father Jaime Lannister came to visit him yesterday,” Mrs. Mordane added, her shrill voice, grating voice dripping with displeasure, “I can’t believe that Father Jon would be so bold as to ignore his duties like this.  I left six messages for him, and he returned not a one.”

“Mrs. Mordane, if you _please_ ,” Father Sam interjected with a slight growl, “He’s not ignoring anyone intentionally.  You know as well as I that Father Jon had never shirked his duties here at the parish.  Most likely he’s either lost his phone or left it off accidentally.  There was no need to panic yesterday like you did.”

“I don’t care for your tone, sir,” Mrs. Mordane answered Father Sam coolly, “Surely he knows that people will worry if he doesn’t answer his phone calls.”

Father Sam rolled his brown eyes in complete frustration.  The old woman was on his last nerve.  “I have been worrying about Jon for years, Mrs. Mordane,” he continued, a distinct hint of snark in his soft voice, “And I’m quite certain that he is alive and well.  You’ll see that for yourself this morning when he arrives.”

Jon could almost see Sam’s pursed lips as Sam took a jab at Mrs. Mordane’s infamous histrionics.  Biting his own lip to suppress a chuckle, Jon decided to go ahead and enter.  Time to get the ruler across the knuckles from the bishop.

“Good morning, everyone,” Jon announced in a slightly over-the-top, friendly demeanor as he walked directly into the reception area, smiling widely, nodding at Mrs. Mordane before shooting Sam a look that his best friend instantly knew meant “thank you.”  Before he uttered another word, Jon headed straight for the bishop, genuflecting to his left knee, taking Bishop Thorne’s hand as it was offered, and kissed the prelate’s ring.

“Rise, Father Jon,” Bishop Thorne commanded, “How good of you to grace us with your presence.  Surely you know that you have some explaining to do, young man.”

“Yes, of course,” Jon answered as he rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back while awaiting the inevitable inquisition.

“In your office.  _Now_ ,” the bishop spat while rising from his seat in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of Mrs. Mordane’s desk.  Jon bowed slightly, walking to his office and opening the door, stepping to the side so his superior could enter first.  As Father Sam stood silently next to Mrs. Mordane’s desk, he tried to catch Jon’s attention, praying that he could talk to Jon at least for a few seconds before the bishop yanked Jon behind closed doors.  No luck.

“You too,” Bishop Thorne snorted, waving his hand toward Father Sam, beckoning him inside the office as well, “I’m not finished with you, either.”

“Certainly, Your Excellency, of course,” Father Sam nodded quickly, swallowing hard as he walked into Jon’s office after the prelate, widening his eyes at Jon while passing by him and mouthing the words, “Your collar?”  Jon’s hand quickly darted up to his neck.  He’d forgotten that he had purposefully left it behind yesterday while visiting his mother’s grave.  Before he had driven to Sansa’s to wait to speak to her.  Before he had spent the night…well, this was going to be one hell of a conversation for sure.

“Sit,” Bishop Thorne ordered as he took Jon’s seat and pointed for Jon and Sam to sit in the two plush tan visitor’s chairs like they were students again and had just gotten busted for trying to cut class.  As the bishop seated himself, narrowing his eyes as he prepared to pass judgment, he leaned slightly in Jon’s office chair, resting one arm on the seat while lightly drumming his fingers on Jon’s desk with the other.  Tilting his head slightly while surveying Jon’s slightly rumpled appearance, the bishop began his assault.

“Let’s get right to the point, Father Jon,” Bishop Thorne began, “Mrs. Mordane called the diocesan offices last night around eleven o’clock.  She had been trying to reach you for the better part of the day and night.  And still, as of this morning, you have yet to return one single phone call left by your secretary, by your colleague sitting here beside you, _or_  by your superior.”  Bishop Thorne’s cold stare sent a slight shiver down Jon’s spine.  “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“I took the day off yesterday, Your Excellency,” Jon began, clearing his throat and wetting his lips as he began, “I apologize that I failed to communicate my intent with Mrs. Mordane.  I needed to attend to some personal matters, and I obviously forgot to turn my phone back on yesterday.  I am truly sorry for causing Mrs. Mordane and Father Sam any stress about my whereabouts or well-being.”

“I wasn’t really that stressed,” Father Sam interjected., “I mostly was trying to calm Mrs. Mordane - ”

“Did I ask you to speak?” Bishop Thorne hissed, glaring directly at the young, obviously nervous priest.  Swallowing hard, Father Sam simply shook his head and looked down at his neatly folded hands resting in his lap.

“Personal matters, you say?” Bishop Thorne snorted, returning his attention to Jon, “Since when do you have the authority to pick your days off willy-nilly and to leave the parish to attend to ‘personal matters’ without permission?”

Jon gritted his teeth, preparing to answer his superior’s question, but before he could reply, Father Sam chimed in, “We _are_ allowed three days off per month, Your Excellency.”

In complete silence, Bishop Thorne shot Father Sam an extraordinarily hard look as he studied the heavy-set young man’s borderline-frightened expression.  Father Sam swallowed hard again, lowering his eyes to his lap as the prelate all but growled at him, “If I want to hear your opinion voiced, I’ll ask for it.”

As the heavy silence descended upon the office, Jon turned his head to look at Sam.  They had been best friends since sixth grade when Jon had beaten up Ramsay Bolton, the school bully, who had given Sam a wedgie and had shoved him into his locker.  If it hadn’t been for Sam, Jon would never have passed his advanced mathematics courses.  They had been roommates either at university, seminary, or at the rectory for the last ten years.  Sam knew Jon better than Jon knew himself most days.  And right here, right now, Jon knew without a doubt that Sam was willing to throw himself under the proverbial bus for him while they sat before their hostile superior, a man who had despised Jon since laying his beady blue eyes on Jon the day he interviewed for the position as Head Pastor of Our Lady of the Wall.

“Thank you for updating me on our diocesan leave policy, Father Sam,” the bishop gruffed, readjusting his position in his seat, his hateful stare returning to Jon, “That still doesn’t account for the fact that you, Father Jon, are required to respond to your messages no matter _what_ day of the week it may be.  There’s a difference between sneaking off for five minutes to peruse your iPhone and completely disappearing without telling anyone of your whereabouts.  So, tell me, Father Jon: where were you last night while attending to your ‘personal matters?’”

Jon and Sam looked at each other.  Sam’s eyes were wide and fearful, almost pleading with Jon _not_ to tell the prelate where Jon had been last night.  That expression on Sam’s face told Jon all he needed to know.  Sam was a smart guy.  Brilliant, actually.  There was absolutely no way in hell that Sam hadn’t been able to deduce Jon’s location last night.

Jon felt like a heel.  First caught up in his own inner turmoil then caught up in the arms of his clandestine lover, Jon had thrown Sam to the wolves, and like the loyal friend that he was, Sam had tried his best to cover for Jon’s sorry, selfish ass as long as he possibly could, even after Mrs. Mordane chose to circumvent Sam and call the bishop’s office herself.  Sam had taken enough crap for Jon.  It was time for Jon to man-up and take the fall.

“Forgive me, Your Excellency,” Jon replied smugly, crossing his legs, neatly folding his hands in his lap, leaning back into his chair in tacit defiance, “But I did not know that if I were tending to personal matters that I was required to announce the nature of my business to the world.”

“So this is how it’s going to be, eh?” Bishop Thorne interjected, moving to fold his arms in front of his black robes.  “Priests do not have ‘personal matters,' boy.  That is a luxury for the laity.  Priests belong to the Church.  Your business is my business, and you _will_ tell me where you were.”

“I beg your pardon,” Jon answered tersely, his jaw clenching as he silently dared Thorne to push him too far, “But I will not.”

“I’ll not ask this again,” the prelate warned as he leaned forward in his seat, resting his weight on his elbows as he folded his arms on top of Jon’s desk, “Where.  Were.  You?”

Jon could feel his heartrate rising so fast, he almost felt dizzy.  If it were only his reputation and career on the line, he’d have thrown his whereabouts in the hateful old bishop’s face so fast that he would have knocked His Excellency right on his pompous, self-righteous ass.  Right now, the fact of the matter was, Jon had to remain silent.  This wasn’t him confessing his love for Sansa to Father Davos or to Sam.  This wasn’t him receiving a week-long dispensation from Father Aemon to do some soul-searching before deciding what to do about his vocation.  If Jon breathed one word about his feelings for Sansa, not only would Bishop Thorne stab him in the gut, he would lead the charge against Jon’s lover, fully intent on bringing her down with him.  Jon was not going to be run out on a rail.  He would leave the Church on his terms and with his head held high…not like this.

Jon Snow was not stupid.  He knew that the bishop never had wanted to appoint Jon to his current position as Head Pastor at Our Lady of the Wall.  Bishop Thorne hated the fact that Jon, such a young priest, was able to rise through the ranks of the clergy so fast.  He despised Jon for being adored by the members of the parish, his popularity spreading like wild fire throughout the entire diocese.  The bishop loathed that virtually all of the parents and students at the church school loudly sung Father Jon’s praises.  Even though he had tried everything in his power to refute Jon’s appointment, the presbyteral council spoke.  The people wanted Jon Snow.  And for an upper class, well-bred man like Alliser Thorne, he found it utterly deplorable that a man such as Jon Snow, a bastard by birth, was allowed to wear the honored, revered black vestments of their faith.

Taking a deep breath, steadying his nerves before speaking, Jon shot Sam a glance before opening his mouth, “I regret that I did not think to listen to my messages last night, and I am truly sorry if I have caused Mrs. Mordane or Father Sam any amount of stress.  But as you can see, Your Excellency, I am alive and well.  I am here this morning, ready to begin my day.”  Rising to his feet, Jon did not break Bishop Thorne’s cold glare, “And, with all due respect, I am fully aware that I am a priest who has a duty to serve the needs of the people of this parish.  Yet, I am also a man.  A man who is afforded the right to have hobbies, interests, and a private life outside the boundaries of my obligations as well.”

The tension in the room had become so thick that Jon was certain that he could have cut it with the proverbial knife.  Scowling at Jon with his lips pursed tightly, Bishop Thorne brusquely waved his hand in the air, “So be it,” the prelate growled, rising to his feet as well, “Father Sam, you are free to leave.  The parish requires at least _one_ priest to be responsible enough to hear confessions and conduct the Mass this morning.”  Stepping around the corner of Jon’s desk, the bishop moved to stand almost directly in front of Jon, “As for you, Father Jon, why don’t you take another day off today to attend to ‘personal matters,’ as you so put it, to reflect upon the ramifications of your decision here today.”

With that salvo, Bishop Thorne stuck out his hand, smirking slightly as he waited for Jon and Sam to bid him adieu properly.  Sam genuflected first, kissing the prelate’s ring and rising to his feet quickly.  Willing himself not to break down and storm out of the office, Jon did the same, rising to his feet and swallowing hard to choke down his anger.

As the bishop exited the office in a swirl of black robes, Jon let out the breath he did not realize that he had been holding while defying his superior.  Turning to Sam, he sighed deeply as he apologized to his best friend, “Sam, I’m so sorry I left you without any knowledge of my whereabouts last night.  I should have called you.  I should have - ”

“I’m not mad at you, Jon,” Sam sighed in return, shaking his head slightly, “I’m fairly certain I know exactly where you were.”

Sheepishly, Jon bowed his head, peeking up at Sam through his dark lashes, “You are probably right.”

“Jon, where _is_ your collar?” Sam asked as he placed his hands on his hips.  “Please tell me that you didn’t leave it at _someone’s_ house?”

“Actually, I left it at my mother’s grave yesterday.”

“You _what_?”

“It’s a long, _long_ story, Sam.  Can we talk after you hear confessions and conduct the Mass this morning?  We can hole up in the rectory, and I’ll spill my guts, I promise.”

“Fine,” Sam replied, biting his bottom lip as he studied Jon closely, “You are not to leave that rectory today until you and I have had a chance to talk.”

“Understood.”

“Fine,” Sam added with a nod.

“Yes, fine,” Jon answered, also nodding slightly yet trying to hold back a grin.

“This isn’t funny, Jon.

“I know.”

“Then stop smirking at me like the damn cat who ate the canary!”

“Samwell Tarly, that is the second time in less than 24 hours I’ve heard you swear!” Jon laughed, reaching out to lightly whack Sam on the upper arm.

“God help us all, but there must be something in the water around here these days,” Sam grumbled as he ambled out of the office, turning on his heels as he pointed his finger directly at Jon, “And remember: you stay put till I get back.  You and I are _so_ going to talk.”

“I will and I know.”

When Sam left, Jon shut his office door.  He couldn’t help but smile.  Bishop Thorne had read him the riot act, threatened him indirectly, and probably left with the intention of trying to have Jon’s head on a spike.  Nothing mattered.  All Jon wanted to do right now was see Sansa.  Glancing at the clock on his wall, he knew that she would already be heading to school, preparing for her day.  He knew he would have to be patient.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that today was Friday.  _Yes!  Hallelujah!_   Today was his day to visit Sansa in class during her 6th grade Latin class.  On the spot, Jon decided that even though Bishop Thorne had ordered him to take another personal day and that Sam wanted him to keep his ass in the rectory until further notice, Jon was _not_ going to miss a chance to see Sansa, especially during their class time date.  He absolutely enjoyed their time together on Fridays.  There was no way that he was missing out on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Father Jon! Tell mean old Bishop Thorne how it is!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is pleased that Father Jon comes to her Friday afternoon Latin class full of eager 6th graders. The students aren't the only ones who appear to be eager, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this little fluffy ball of sexiness between Sansa and her priestly lover, Father Jon, as they verbally spar and drive each other insane with want! This is most likely the last peaceful chapter for a bit...their little horny bubble will pop soon enough, folks. Just saying.

_“_ _Frater stultum,” Father Jon replied with a completely straight face, answering the question posed by the blonde sixth-grade boy on whom he had called just seconds ago, “Now, Tommen, whatever you do, don’t go home and call your brother ‘stupid’ in Latin, or I’ll get in a whole heap of trouble with Miss Stark!”  The entire classroom erupted in a round of raucous laughter, some of the young female students covering their mouths as they giggled at their handsome priest’s jest._

_It was Friday afternoon at Our Lady of the Wall, and this was the day that Sansa and the handsome priest were able to enjoy each other’s company for fifty glorious minutes together with no one watching them other than a couple handfuls of twelve-year olds.  “OK, who’s next?” Father Jon smiled, watching the myriad student hands flying up into air, flitting and waving wildly, trying to attract his attention.  Casually glancing around the room, he noticed the pale, thin girl in the back row who was staring down at her desk, obviously trying to figure out a way to disappear so that her priest would not notice her._

_The shy, quiet student’s face bore the signs that she had suffered from greyscale in her younger years, and according to Sansa, the disfigurement left behind from the ravaging disease had caused the incredibly gifted preteen to turn inward.  Father Jon had observed her discreetly the last several weeks that he had been coming to Sansa’s classroom.  Not once did this student try to engage him.  “How about it, Shireen?” he called out across the room at the student trying so hard to fade into obscurity.  The eyes of the other students widened once they realized their priest had called on the odd kid in the back of the classroom, “Do you have a question for me today?”_

_Sansa’s ginger eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she also turned toward Shireen.  For months now, Sansa had been attempting to gently pull Shireen out of her shell, desperately trying to coax the bright, otherwise pretty girl to participate in class.  Still the young girl had refused.  The teasing and taunting Sansa was quite certain that Shireen had faced in her short lifetime was the root cause of her withdrawing from the world._

_“Me?” Shireen squeaked, feeling the awkward glare of her fellow classmates upon her, “Uh…no, sir.  I don’t have a question.”_

_“Aw, c’mon,” Father Jon beamed as he sauntered between the rows of desks, making his way to the back of the room, kneeling at Shireen’s desk, “Surely you have something you’d like me to translate for you?”  Squatting beside her chair, bracing himself with his elbow on the top of her desk, Father Jon shot Shireen a wink, “You can whisper it in my ear if you’d prefer.”  He shoved his dark curls out of the way with his free hand, leaning toward her._

_Shireen’s mouth gaped.  She glanced all around the classroom, finally meeting Sansa’s reassuring smile and nod.  Smiling from ear-to-ear, the young girl  turned to face Father Jon and leaned forward, cupping her hand over his ear as she whispered something in secret.  In response, Father Jon smiled widely, repeating Shireen’s actions as he whispered the answer in her ear as the curious eyes of her classmates watched._

_“What did she ask you?” Jojen called out, his auburn eyebrows furrowed in confusion._

_“Well, now,” Father Jon grinned as he strolled toward the front of the classroom once again, all eyes eagerly focused on him, “Shireen?  Shall I tell them?”  Like they were watching a tennis match, the children’s heads swivled back toward Shireen, who was grinning and shaking her head furiously.  “Sorry, Jojen.  It appears that I do not have your classmate’s permission to share.”_

_At the end of class as the students congregated around Father Jon, inundating him with additional questions or translation requests before departing from school for the day, Sansa sat on the edge of her desk, watching how at ease Jon was with the kids.  As she stared at him, Shireen approached Sansa cautiously.  “Did you have fun in class today?” Sansa grinned._

_"Yes, Miss Stark,” Shireen nodded, “I did.  And I’d like to tell you what I asked Father Jon to translate for me.”_

_“Sure!” Sansa smiled, “Please, let me hear it.”_

_“Amo meus magistra.  Ea pulchra est.”_

_Sansa could feel a lump forming in the back of her throat.  “You love your teacher do you?  And you think I’m pretty?”_

_“You’re my favorite teacher in the whole school,” Shireen smiled softly, “I really like your class.”_

_“Thank you, Shireen,” Sansa sniffled, “I like you too.  And my goodness, you’re so smart.  You make 100’s on everything I give you.”_  
  
_“That’s because you make Latin fun, Miss Stark,” Shireen grinned, “And Father Jon does, too.”_

_Sansa couldn’t help herself as her cerulean eyes drifted across the classroom.  Catching her gaze, Father Jon shot her a quick wink.  “Yes, Shireen, he most certainly does.”_

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Glancing at the clock hanging on the classroom wall that was nestled in between the white board and declensions charts, Sansa swallowed hard as her last class of the day filed into the room.  Her sixth graders were filing into their seats, hustling and whispering as the buzzer sounded the beginning of class time.  Curiously, Jon was not in sight.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Sansa began, trying to recalibrate her lesson plan for the afternoon since Jon had not arrived yet.  “Let’s get started.  “If you would, please open your textbooks to page - ”

“Where’s Father Jon?” Myrcella interrupted with her hand in the air, not waiting to be called on by her magistra.

“He will be here,” Sansa smiled, “I’m sure he’s just running late.”

Almost as if on cue, Father Jon knocked on the open classroom door as he entered, “Forgive me, everyone, for being late.  I had a meeting with the bishop this morning and then with Father Sam this afternoon.  I seemed to have forgotten the time.”  As he slowly sauntered forward, stopping less than a foot from Sansa as she stood by her desk, his dark brown eyes never leaving Sansa’s, she could feel the heat slowly rising to her pale cheeks.

“You’re forgiven,” she replied, coughing slightly to clear her throat, trying desperately to slow down her rapidly rising breathing rate.

“I knew you would understand,” he spoke quietly, smiling like a complete dork at her.

For a brief moment, the two secret lovers stared into each other's eyes, their unspoken words of affection floating between them in the air.  Things between them had changed so dramatically in the last twenty-four hours, Sansa was not prepared for how difficult it would be to stand in Jon’s presence and not behave like the woman whom he had just bedded last night.

“Miss Stark?” Tommen asked quietly, “What page do you want?”

“Oh, yes, right…” Sansa giggled slightly at her faux pas, covering her mouth with her hand as she turned from Jon, “Go ahead and put your books away, class.  Since Father Jon is here now, we will go ahead and work on our recitation of the Pater Noster first.  Top to bottom, from memory, kids.  Let’s impress our priest today!”

Sitting down on the edge of Sansa’s desk, Jon watched with hooded eyes as she gracefully walked to the white board, her light pink sweater and knee-length black skirt deliciously hugging her womanly shape.  While standing tall and proud before her beloved students, Jon couldn’t help but grin at the object of his passion.  The students adored her.  He had picked up on that fact the very first day that he had participated in her classroom.  All together on her command, the students recited aloud in unison one of Jon’s favorite prayers.  Hearing the prayer spoken in somewhat slightly mangled Latin didn’t bother him in the least.  Jon was in awe of the woman he loved, and quite frankly, the students could be speaking French right now for all he cared.  Jon was just happy to see Sansa in her element.

“So, what did you think, Father Jon?” Sansa inquired, turning her attention toward the handsome parish priest.

“I think that was fabulous,” Jon smiled from ear-to-ear, not breaking her stare, “Just wonderful.  I’m so proud of the way you have worked so hard this year to master Latin.  It’s a difficult language to learn, but trust me on this, kids.  You’ll be thankful one day that your parents made you study it.  It’s truly the original romance language.”

That little statement brought a crimson flush to Sansa’s face as well as a knowing grin.  Trying to quickly divert the children’s attentions before anyone grew wise, she abruptly turned from staring at Jon toward her class once again.  She noticed one of her students furiously waving his hand in the air.

“Yes, Jojen?” Sansa spoke as she called on her eager student.

“May I go first today?” he asked, “I already have a sentence for Father Jon to translate!”

“Sure, go ahead,” Jon grinned as he rose to his feet and approached the head of the classroom where Sansa still stood, “I’m ready for anything.”  As he stood close to Sansa yet far enough away to respect proper protocol, he gave her a nod and a quick wink as he finished, “Bring it on!”

As the minutes of class time ticked by them, Sansa, who had moved to sit on the corner of her desk as Jon had done earlier, scrutinized every nuance of Jon as he easily navigated the questions put forth by her students.  No matter how intricate or silly, Jon quickly and thoroughly translated their handiwork, offering along the way various facts about ancient Rome, historical figures, or other intriguing nuggets of information to add to their growing knowledge of the antiquated language and Roman culture.  It was in times like these that Sansa truly respected not only Jon’s brain but his ability to interact with kids.  He had a true talent for making the learning of Latin both fun and exciting for the students.  Lost momentarily in a daydream of how amazing he would be as a father to his own children one day, her reverie was broken when she felt Jon’s touch on her forearm.

“Miss Stark?” Jon whispered softly, “Where were you just now?”

“Uh, nowhere really,” she answered, biting her bottom lip in embarrassment at having been caught by not only Jon but her entire sixth grade glass in the middle of a once wholesome daydream that had turned decidedly raunchy, “I just…I was distracted momentarily.”

“I see,” Jon replied, pretending to be all serious and stern, “I wonder what you were thinking about just now.”

Swallowing hard as she felt Jon’s eyes boring holes into her, Sansa inhaled sharply as his hand ghosted higher until he was lightly gripping her elbow.  Knowing that she was skating on very thin ice, she couldn’t help herself.  She definitely felt like playing fire with fire.  “I was thinking that it was time that you and I wrestled a bit.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Right here?  Right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The classroom full of twelve-year olds watched their teacher and priest verbally sparring, all none the wiser as the hidden meaning of the adults’ words.  Slightly confused, Meera raised her hand.

Catching her student’s hand in the air out of the corner of her eye, Sansa called on her excited student without breaking Jon’s gaze.  “Yes, Meera?” Sansa asked, slightly breathless.

“Are you and Father Jon going to play ‘Latine Proelium’ again?” Meera inquired, the sheer delight apparent in her voice, “I love watching you two do that ‘Latin Battle’ game!”

Quirking his mouth into a devious smirk, Jon immediately replied, “Would you like that, class?  Would you enjoy seeing me take down Miss Stark once again in a battle of the wits?”

When Sansa gently retracted her arm from Jon’s grip, folding both her arms in front of her bosom while defiantly glaring at Jon, she couldn’t resist the temptation set before her, “You’re overly confident as always, Father Jon.  The students know that I’ll win this battle of the wits, as you so eloquently put it, since I will be engaging an unarmed foe.”

As various levels of titter and giggles ran rampantly through the classroom, Jon slowly licked his bottom lip in the sheer anticipation of what he was about to do.  “Ladies first, Miss Stark,” he taunted with a wicked grin.

“Hit me with your best shot,” Sansa smirked.

“I’ll go easy on you this round,” Father Jon playfully mocked as he began to walk around the rows of desks, “The ‘Hail Mary.’  First two lines, first Latin then English.”

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,” Sansa answered smugly, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”

“C’mon, that was way too easy, Father Jon!” several of the students clamored from their desks, “You’re letting her win!”  “Give him a hard one, Miss Stark!”

“Ready?” Sansa countered, worrying her bottom lip, enjoying the way his dark eyebrow rose as he prepared himself, “I’ll not be so kind.”

“I _love_ it when you’re rough with me, milady,” he teased, neatly folding his arms behind his back and clasping his hands as he rocked on back and forth on his heels.

Her bright eyes shining with mischief, from her arsenal Sansa whipped out a quote from Cicero that she had learned long ago in one of her ancient writers courses at university.  As her Latin words flowed freely, she had to contain her bark of laughter that desperately wanted to escape as Jon absorbed her challenge.

“Any man can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error,” Jon grinned while translating the quote Sansa had lobbed his direction.  Once again, the entire class erupted into a fit of merriment as their parish priest realized that in their young eyes, he had just gone down in flames.  “Marcus Tullius Cicero.  Nicely executed, Miss Stark.”

“Thank you,” Sansa beamed proudly, “Do you conceded defeat?”

“Never,” Jon rasped, “I’ll not be satisfied until I have you fully at my mercy.”

That little comment sent a surge of lust southward all the way to Sansa’s womanhood.  “Do your worst; I can take it.  I can handle anything that you give me,” Sansa countered, willing herself to remain the picture of aloof detachment yet failing miserably.  She also felt like jumping into the air and clicking her heels at the way Jon’s brown eyes widened at her innuendo-laced volley.

Without further warning, Jon began sauntering toward her, reciting a poem in Latin by Catullus, feeling quite full of himself that he had her cornered both figuratively and literally.  Surely, Sansa would refuse to translate anything that one of Rome’s most vulgar, salacious poets had penned.  The sheer, raw look of surprise mixed with desire that overtook his secret lover’s beautiful face spurned him onward as she listened to him declaring that he doesn’t care if people judge them because life is too short to worry, begging her to kiss him thousands of times.  When finally finished reciting the brief, yet intensely erotic poem, Jon stopped mere inches before Sansa, looking down into her highly aroused blue eyes as she sat on the edge of her desk.  Her thighs squeezed shut tightly, her chest was rising and falling vigorously almost as if he had just brought her to completion.

“I…that was…” Sansa stammered, utterly flabbergasted by Jon’s words.  Thankfully, the school buzzer sounded, signaling the end of class time.  As the throng of students exited her classroom, a few stragglers stopping to grab Father Jon’s attention long enough to chat or to ask a question that they did not have time to ask during class, Sansa could feel her panties starting to dampen from her arousal.  When the last student finally departed, Jon turned slowly toward her with the biggest shit-eating grin Sansa had ever seen.

“What’s the matter, Miss Stark?” Jon murmured as he approached, “Cat got your tongue?”

“You cheated,” she grinned, “You _knew_ there was no way in hell that I could’ve translated that in front of those kids!”

“Cheat?  Me?” he retorted with an air of feigned indignation, “Why, Miss Stark!  The nerve!”

“You have no idea, priest,” Sansa teased, deciding on the spot to return Jon’s attempt to rattle her.  Leaning forward on purpose under the pretense of scratching her calf, her eyes never left his as she gave him an unhindered view down her blouse.  She couldn’t help but smirk at the way his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her cleavage from that angle.

“You certainly are a naughty one, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Jon rasped while licking his lips.

“Meet me back at my apartment tonight, and I’ll show you,” Sansa vowed.

“I would never dare to refuse such an invitation,” he countered as he pulled his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth.  Turning his head to look over his shoulder at the wide-open classroom door, watching the hallway full of students and staff meandering through the building, Jon turned back to look Sansa directly in the eyes, “If I didn’t think that we would be caught, I’d bend you over that desk of yours and find out just how naughty you really are.”

“Look who’s the naughty one now, hmm?” Sansa purred, hopping off her desk and spinning on her heels.  Grabbing her black handbag out of her desk drawer, she tilted her head to the side, playfully smirking at her lover, “Walk me to my car?”

“I’d be honored,” Jon answered with a grin, dipping slightly into a small bow as he escorted Sansa out of the classroom.

As she moved to turn out the overhead lights, she couldn’t resist to needled him one more time.  Leaning across Jon’s chest to reach the light switch, she placed her mouth dangerously close to his ear as she breathed, “Principiis obsta, et respice finem.”

“I agree with Ovid, Miss Stark.  One _should_ resist the beginnings while considering the end,” Jon laughed, shaking his head as they began walking side-by-side down the hallway full of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone cares...
> 
> Catullus was a poet in the late Roman Republic who wrote some seriously messed up stuff, y'all. I referenced one of his most famous love poems, _Catullus 5,_ also known as _Let's Live and Love: to Lesbia._
> 
>  _Remedia Amoris (Love's Remedy_ or _The Cure for Love)_ is an 814-line poem in Latin by the Roman poet, Ovid.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After talking with Father Sam, Father Jon heads to Sansa's apartment where the two share a moment of intimacy. As the young priest prepares to order dinner while Sansa is in the shower, Father Jon wonders about where they will go from here. And when Father Jon notices who is calling Sansa, he is not amused. Not at _all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have been patiently waiting for an update. I got myself stuck a bit with where exactly I wanted to take this story, but now, thanks to Vivilove and Janina, I'm unstuck and ready to move forward!

_“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” Sam groaned, closing his eyes as he rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands, “You know that I will never be able to unhear this, right?  Are you sure that you don’t need to go to confession first?  I mean, I know I’m your best friend and all, but what you’re telling me… I should be acting as your priest right now!”_

_“But, Sam,” Jon countered, sighing heavily at Sam’s suggestion, “I can’t confess.  Don’t you see?  I can’t make confession if I don’t feel guilty about what I did.  I know that I’m supposed to feel remorse and shame, but frankly, I don’t.  I’d just be lying about what happened between me and Sansa.  And wouldn’t that just be compounding my sins?”_

_With Jon’s response still hanging in the air, Sam slowly opened his eyes as his hands fell like bricks upon his lap.  The two young men were holed up in Sam’s room in the rectory at Our Lady of the Wall.  Pursing his lips together tightly, Sam studied his handsome best friend.  Sam loved Jon like a brother.  It felt like they had been together through everything during their long-time friendship.  Sam wanted nothing more than for Jon to be happy.  Hell, if push came to shove, he would even lay down his life for Jon.  But after hearing the story of Jon’s origins, directly followed by Jon’s admission about his sudden physical relationship with Sansa, Sam was rendered completely bumfuzzled._

_“You can’t be a priest, Jon, if you don’t repent.  You know that, right?” Sam spoke as he stared directly into Jon's visage, “I mean…Christ almighty…”_

_“Sam, please try to understand,” Jon smiled feebly as his best friend, “I’m in love with Sansa, and she’s in love with me.  I’m leaving the Church to be with her.  Don’t you see?  It’s the only way.  I’m not going to be able to fulfill my duties, Sam.  I can’t.  I just can’t.  I want her, Sam.  She’s my world now.”_

_“I know, Jon, I know,” Sam smiled slowly as he reached out to clasp Jon by the shoulder, “Although part of me wants you to reconsider your decision, I think I understand.  You’ve always been so brave.  And passionate, too, about what you believe is right.  I’ve always admired that about you.  And who knows?  If I had a woman waiting for me, then maybe I would be doing the same thing.”  The look of longing and regret that overtook Sam’s face made Jon’s gut wrench._

_“You’re thinking about Gilly again, aren’t you?” Jon asked quietly, studying his best friend as Sam looked off into the distance, not focused on anything in particular._

_“Yeah, I suppose I am,” Sam all but whispered, his voice full of regret, “Sometimes I wonder, you know?  I wonder what my life would be like right now if I hadn’t let her go.”_

_“Maybe it isn’t too late?” Jon smirked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.  Sam’s brown eyes almost bugged out of his head with that little comment._

_“Jon, are you insane?” Sam huffed, shaking his head in disbelief, “She’s getting married in two months.  Married, you idiot.  And even if I left my vocation, who’s to say…oh, Jon…what’s the use in talking about all of this anyway?”_

_“Because, Sam,” Jon countered, his voice full of hope, “It’s never too late.  You still love her.  Maybe if you -”_

_“No, Jon,” Sam rebuked, his voice slightly shaky as he held his hand out to silence Jon, “We were over long ago.  Stop.  Please?”_

_Jon hung his head, sighing in resignation, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t…I just want you to be as happy as I am.”_

_“Let’s see just how happy you are once Father Davos gets a hold of you,” Sam snorted, rising to his feet and shaking his head as he moved to exit the bedroom._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

“Sansa…mmm, that feels so good, sweet girl…don’t stop…” Jon panted as Sansa bobbed her head up and down his cock, her dainty fist tugging and pulling him along the base as she sucked him off as hard as she could.  Carding his hands through Sansa’s wild, sexed-outed hair, Jon barely managed to open his eyes, lifting his head from the back of her couch, staring in total awe and in total love at the woman kneeling before him.

As soon as they had left Our Lady of the Wall at the end of her last Latin class of the day, Jon had briskly walked Sansa to her car, bidding her good-bye with all the formality he could muster as the throng of middle and high school students and teachers milled about the parking lot.  After she had left, Jon had headed back to the rectory, bracing himself for the inevitable ass-kicking he would receive upon seeing a visibly irritated Sam waiting for him in the main living area, tapping his toes with his arms crossed like a mom waiting for her kid to get home after missing curfew.  The two long-time best friends spent the next three hours talking about everything that had happened over the last few days.  By the time he had finished explaining his meeting with Father Aemon and Father Davos as well as his visit with Father Jaime Lannister, Jon wasn’t quite sure how to approach the looming conversation with Sam about exactly where Jon had spent the night.

Thankfully, though, Sam adamantly declined to actually hear any details outside the boundaries of confession, content to know only that Jon and Sansa were following through on their intent to pursue a relationship.  Jon’s time with Sam abruptly ended, since Sam’s presence was required at the high school football game that evening.  After being warned by Sam that Jon really shouldn’t go to Sansa’s apartment until after Jon made his intentions known to his superiors as well as to the congregation at large, Sam had left the rectory, leaving Jon to his own devices.

And of course, when left to his own devices, Jon had headed straight for Sansa’s apartment.

Popping off Jon’s dick with a loud smack, Sansa couldn’t help but smile smugly at the sight of her clandestine lover’s completely blissed-out face.  His hooded brown eyes were staring back at her, so full of adoration.  Jon’s kiss-swollen lips, plump and reddened from their make-out session that directly preceded Sansa’s request to pleasure him with her mouth, were parted slightly as he watched her go down on him.  And by the way his chest rose and fell rapidly, almost desperate to breathe, Sansa knew that her efforts to make him come were highly appreciated.

“Do you like this?” she asked, her voice soft and low, still pumping him lightly with her fist, “You like me taking you into my mouth?”  Without breaking eye contact, she lowered her mouth once again to his member, this time barely tracing her tongue along the outline of the head.

“Yeah…yeah, I do,” Jon replied hoarsely, willing himself not to spill just yet as he watched her kiss the slit, “You’re a natural at this.”

“I’m not sure how to take that compliment,” Sansa giggled, releasing his cock as she rose to her feet.  Without further ado, she divested herself of the remaining pieces of her clothing while standing between his spread legs, enjoying the way Jon’s eyes widened and then narrowed lasciviously as she quickly removed her bra and panties.  Now completely bare before him, Sansa was just as naked as Jon.

“I’ll never get used to how utterly ravishing you are,” Jon gaped, patting his lap, tacitly asking Sansa to straddle him.

“You’d better not,” Sansa purred as she grasped his broad shoulders, widening her stance, placing a leg on either side of Jon’s thighs as he grabbed the condom off the couch cushion, ripping it open and unrolling it onto his rock-hard shaft.  As Jon moved to grasp her hips, Sansa slowly sat down, impaling herself deliciously slow, taking him inch by inch, staring hard into his lust-filled gaze as she finally seated herself fully.

“Christ, Sansa…” Jon moaned as her ass met his thighs.  “This is going to be over quickly!”

“Mmm, Jon,” she gasped at the sensation of his cock filling her completely, “I love how you feel inside me.”  Still clutching his shoulders, she began to rock her hips, grinding herself against his pelvis.

“You’re so beautiful,” he barely squeaked when Sansa arched her back, her head thrown backward, the tips of her loosely flowing hair tickling his thighs.  Knowing that he was _thisclose_ to his orgasm, Jon hurriedly let go of her hip with his right hand, moving to vigorously massage her womanhood right where they were joined.  “Please, Sansa…can you come for me?  Can you come for me, sweet girl?”..

“I…yes, oh, God, right there…yes,  ungh,” Sansa groaned, her release rapidly approaching as Jon swiftly lowered his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.  “Jon, please!” she cried out as she came, her inner walls clenching tightly around his cock.

Unable to hold out any longer, Jon reared back, releasing her breast just in time to witness the look of raw passion in Sansa’s azure eyes.  That was all it took to send Jon over the edge into the glorious abyss.  “Fuck, Sansa!” he cried out, the sheer force of his orgasm almost blinding him for a few seconds.

As the two lovers rode out the shockwaves of their release, Jon all but collapsed, his head falling onto the back of the couch while Sansa’s head drooped until it rested on his bare shoulder.  Neither spoke for the briefest of moments, still basking in the flurry of their coupling.  Finally, Sansa raised her head to look into Jon’s face.

“I love you, Jon Snow,” Sansa grinned as she placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

Smiling widely, Jon answered, “And I love you, Sansa Stark.”  He reached to tuck her curls behind her ear, tilting his head to the side as he studied her features. 

“What?” Sansa smiled in return, leaning into his touch.

“I wish that I had met you years ago,” Jon mused, sniffing in amusement at hearing his admission, “Where have you been all of my life?”

Sansa could feel the beginnings of tears starting to prickle the corner of her eyes, “Jon…”

“No, Sansa, I’m serious,” Jon beamed, “I feel like I’ve know you forever.  Like you and I were -”

“Meant to be together?” Sansa interrupted.

“Yeah…” Jon smirked, “Something like that.”

“I hope you feel that way after what happens when you and I come clean about our relationship,” Sansa added, worrying her bottom lip as she began to let her mind wander down that pathway.

She had wanted to tell Jon about Harry’s antics.  Yet, each and every time she thought the time was right, something stopped her.  If it wasn’t Jon’s turmoil with finding out about his birth father, then it was the simple fact that keeping her hands to herself was becoming decidedly difficult.  Earlier in the afternoon on her drive home, Sansa had resolved to speak to Jon first-thing when he showed up at her doorstep.  However, all it took was one sexy, toothy grin from Jon, and Sansa was undressing him the minute that he closed her front door behind him.

“Stop that,” Jon shushed her with his finger, his dark eyebrows knitting together, “None of that matters any more.  What matters is this; us.”

Sansa decided that just as soon as she could get to her bathroom and clean up, she was telling Jon about Harry’s exploits.  “You’re right.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Jon chuckled as he watched Sansa rise slowly from his lap, “And just where do you think you’re going, eh?”

“To shower,” Sansa giggled when Jon licked his lips, “Alone, sir.  _Alone_.  You order the food.  I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she added as she playfully swatted his hand away from her ass.

“Fine, leave me to do all the dirty work,” Jon grumbled, pretending to be angry as he motioned to his sated cock still housed in the used condom.  He felt his heart soar as Sansa laughed at his joke.  He watched her naked form saunter out of her living room, not breaking his stare until she disappeared down the hallway and until he heard the shower water running from her bathroom attached to her bedroom.

Slowly rising to his feet, Jon shuffled into the hallway bathroom, taking care of the condom, wrapping it in several layers of toilet tissue and disposing of it quickly.  As he began to run the hot water in the sink to clean up a bit before phoning in their dinner order, Jon looked at himself in the mirror.  Taking a deep breath as he braced himself against the edge of the sink, he stared hard at his face reflected back at him.

Sansa was still having doubts about Jon’s commitment to leaving the Church for her.  Jon could tell that she still feared at any moment, Jon would have a change of heart, would go back on his word, and would leave her high and dry.  And even though her fears were unfounded, he could understand where she was coming from, he truly could.

The idea of walking away from the life he had always known was scary.  He would be lying to both Sansa and to himself if he denied that.  Sure, the people of Hardhome would reject him and his decision to leave the priesthood, but he did not really give a rat’s ass about what people thought about him.  It was Sansa’s reputation on the line that bothered him.  As soon as their involvement became public knowledge, Sansa would become the harlot in the eyes of the congregation, stripped of her job and raked over the proverbial coals by those who once thought so highly of her.  Shuddering at that thought, Jon suddenly had the urge to grab her by the hand, lead her to his truck, and drive off into the sunset, starting over in a new town far, far away from Hardhome where no one would know them.

Sighing heavily, Jon shoved down that train of thought, busying himself with cleaning up and then scurrying back to Sansa’s living room.  He grinned to himself as he rooted around the floor for his clothes which Sansa had been so eager to remove.  Finally reassembling his wardrobe, Jon threw on his black pants and his black shirt, not bothering to button it all the way to the top.  He grabbed his cell phone off Sansa’s coffee table, just about to start his online search for the phone number to the nearest Chinese take-out place, when Sansa’s cell phone began to ring, furiously vibrating across the table.  Jon sniffed in amusement as he glanced over at the phone, but when he saw the name that popped up on her cell phone screen, Jon’s face no longer appeared amused.

It was Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun...


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Sansa finally decides that it is time to tell Father Jon about Harry's attempt to threaten her, she realizes too late that Father Jon already has started putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Understandably upset, Father Jon reassures Sansa that no matter what may happen, they are in this together, and together they will stand united against Harry and whomever tries to stand in their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The proverbial cat just ran right out of the bag, folks! Let's see how Sansa and Father Jon work out this one!

_“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, Father Jon,” Sansa giggled nervously, leaning ever-so-slightly in her seat, nudging with her elbow the handsome young man in black sitting next to her.  Sansa absolutely loved these stolen moments with her parish priest.  Over the last few months since moving to Hardhome, Sansa found herself bumping into Father Jon while attending various school-related functions at either the church or the school itself._

_Tonight was no exception.  The high school choir was hosting its annual spring Broadway review, and Harry had texted her during her drive to the school, letting her know that he was still at work and couldn’t meet her there as promised.  That meant Sansa was going to be flying solo.  Surprised to find herself so excited that Harry would not be at the concert after all, Sansa lingered by the entrance to the auditorium, chatting with the high school kids as they milled about while waiting for the show to start.  She also found herself hoping that one certain young priest would attend the concert tonight, and if her prayers were answered, maybe she could figure out a way to sit near him._

_Hallelujah for small miracles._

_“Hmm…I don’t know…” Father Jon hesitated, pretending like he was unsure of Sansa’s trustworthiness, unconsciously wetting his lower lip while surveying Sansa’s every move.  He simply adored the way her whole porcelain complexion flushed when he teased her during their bouts of playful banter, even if these moments were always to remain chaste.  In truth, Jon lived for interactions like these when they could steal a few minutes alone while in the midst of church or school obligations._

_When Jon had arrived at the show, determined to maintain a healthy distance from the exquisite, redheaded Latin teacher who constantly plagued his thoughts, the young priest hurled that plan right out the window the very second that his chocolate brown eyes landed on Sansa as she stood by the entrance to the auditorium, all alone because her boyfriend, Harry, had stood her up once again.  She was utterly ravishing in her light pink short-sleeve sweater that she had paired with a form-fitting yet tasteful black pencil skirt and pumps.  Jon adored her full, fiery mane, especially when she chose to wear it down like she had tonight.  That head of hair had plagued his dreams almost every night since Sansa had moved to Hardhome and joined the parish._

_Since Jon’s first confession with Father Davos that he was falling for Sansa, Father Davos had consistently reminded Jon that all men of the cloth face similar temptations during their service to God.  Father Davos had advised Jon to pray to the Lord for the fortitude to resist man’s base urges and lustful desires.  He also warned Jon that he must maintain a professional demeanor at all times while in Sansa’s presence._

_Jon knew better.  He shouldn’t be sitting with her.  God save him, he couldn’t resist._

_“I wouldn’t lie to you, Father Jon!” Sansa beamed, highly amused by their bout of merriment, raising her three fingers in the air, giving him her very best Girl Scout salute.  Much to her delight, Father Jon actually poked her elbow that was still lingering on their shared armrest in return with his own.  The contact might not be much to write home about, but Sansa would definitely take it._

_“Since I know nothing about Broadway musicals, I suppose that I’ll just have to take your word for it, won’t I?” Father Jon chuckled as the lights in the school’s auditorium began to dim, signaling the start of the show._

_Reaching up to brush his hair out of his face, Father Jon angled his head in that endearing, self-deprecating way that he had when they were joking around with each other, shooting her a slightly mischievous grin for good measure.  His brown curls were longer these days, and although he obviously tried to keep them in check, more often than not, the curls won._

_Taking one last opportunity to really look at him before the auditorium went black, Sansa’s sky-blue eyes hurriedly danced across the contours and lines of Father Jon’s face.  How Sansa wished that she could reach out and trace them with her fingers.  Good Lord but that man was beautiful._

_“You’re going to love ‘West Side Story.’  I just know it.  You love Shakespeare, right?” Sansa asked as the hush of the audience began to spread._

_Father Jon simply nodded his head in agreement, continuing to smile like a love-sick fool at the ethereal beauty beside him._

_“Well, this musical is a retelling of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’” Sansa whispered softly, pointing to the high school students taking their marks, “Trust me; you’ll love it!’_

_Smiling silently, Father Jon studied the lovely lady next to him as she turned her attention toward the stage.  As his eyes adjusted to the lowered lighting of the auditorium, the sounds of the students echoing from the stage did not register in his brain.  The only thing that he could hear ringing in his ears was Romeo’s words to Mercutio: “Under loves heavy burden do I sink.”  And like Romeo, Jon wondered if somehow Fate had meant to taunt him by allowing him to fall in love with a woman that he could never have._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Standing the middle of her bedroom as she rifled through her dresser, trying to figure out what she wanted to wear for what she hoped would become a cozy night hanging out in her apartment with Jon, Sansa found herself smiling like the Cheshire Cat as she yanked out some clean clothes to wear after her shower.  She threw on a purple t-shirt and black yoga pants, smiling wickedly as she purposely skipped a bra just in case, well, Jon might need a mid-movie intermission.

Although Jon had not yet actually agreed to stay the night, Sansa wondered if maybe he would agree to sleep over in lieu of returning to the rectory.  Chances were slim since come Saturday morning the Church was hosting its annual “fall festival” sponsored by the Knights of Columbus, which just so happened to be one of the largest fundraisers for the school at Our Lady of the Wall.  Sansa sighed as she plaited her still-damp hair, studying her face in the mirror above her dresser.  There was no way she was getting out of her duty at the festival tomorrow.  Actually, Sansa was not really hacked that she had to help sell tickets or run the duck pond carnival game for the little ones.  No, she was just being selfish because she wanted to keep Jon all to herself.  The man did have obligations outside the four walls of their clandestine love nest they were creating in her apartment.  Jon was _still_ the parish priest, for goodness sake, even if he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it lately.

While beating her damp hair into submission, Sansa felt a little giddy while thinking about the rather rapid change of events in her relationship status with Jon, even if the majority of the outside world still had no clue.  She could not think of a time in her life that she had been this happy.  Jon was everything that Sansa had ever hoped for in a man.  He was extraordinarily smart.  He loved the Classics as much as she did.  He was witty, friendly, slightly-shy-yet-absolutely-endearing, and above all, Jon genuinely cared about people. 

Jon also happened to be drop-dead gorgeous, built like a Greek god, and downright insatiable in the bedroom.  Yeah, Sansa considered herself to be one lucky lady.

The only problem standing in Sansa’s glorious pathway to everlasting happiness with Jon was the very thing around which Sansa’s entire life since infancy had been based:  the Church.  No matter how many times Jon reassured her, Sansa found herself drifting back into the pit of self-doubt, worrying that soon he would wake up and realize that he loved the Church and his vocation more than her.  Jon seemed so confident in his choice to walk away from all the he was and all that he knew to be with her.  Sansa herself wished she could be that self-assured.

Sansa didn’t doubt for a millisecond her own commitment to Jon.  Her worry fell at the feet of the unknown outcome for Jon once their relationship went public.  Jon would be run out on a rail.  He would be defrocked and would face horrible sanctions from the Church.

And then Sansa would have to deal with her loss of employment as well as her family.  God almighty, her parents…how utterly devastated they would be once she spilled the proverbial beans.  Sansa dreaded that embarrassing, painful conversation when she sat down with her mother and father, both devout Catholics, and explained to them that their beloved eldest daughter, the perpetually obedient child who had remained faithful to the Church even when her siblings jumped ship, was virtually shacking up with a priest.

But enduring the wrath of the Starks, the parish, and the Church paled in comparison to the one conversation Sansa both needed to have yet feared the most: she desperately needed to tell Jon that Harry was trying to blackmail her.

 _Harry,_ Sansa sighed heavily as she made her way to the bedroom door to head back into the living room, pausing momentarily with her hand on the knob, _He’s the real problem.  I really need to tell Jon about Harry’s shenanigans._

Sansa was no fool.  She knew that Harry was hoping to scare her into submission.  In his sick way, Harry actually wanted her back, and he was just the type of guy who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, even if he had to use a few threats or vandalism along the way to achieve his goal.  Sansa could not predict just how far Harry planned to take this petty little game of cat and mouse that he was trying to play with her.

Sansa was worried.  Worried that Harry would not only try to ruin her, which he had vowed to do in the God’s Wood, but also that he planned to destroy Jon as well.

When she was dating Harry, Sansa had seen the signs that he was not who he said he was, but she had chosen to ignore them, desperately trying to convince herself that Harry was a good match.  Putting forth an aura that he was a righteous, dutiful, Catholic young man, Harry had everyone fooled.  He didn’t miss a Mass.  He was knee-deep in the various ministries throughout the parish.  His family were substantial donors to the Church, making the Hardyngs an invaluable asset to the hierarchs of the Church.

But Sansa knew the real Harry.  She had seen the signs of his possessiveness and controlling behaviors all along while dating him, yet she had been too naïve.  From day one of their relationship, he “suggested” what she should wear when they were going out together.  He always ordered her meals for her without even asking her what she wanted.  He appeared friendly and vivacious to the people at Church but in private often drifted into bouts of moodiness.  Harry greedily took her virginity and had left her all alone, confused, and depressed after his pleasure was achieved.  Harry would have forced himself on her when she had tried to break things off with him while all alone in the God’s Wood just two days ago if Jon hadn’t come to her rescue.

_Jon…_

Would Sansa have ever found the strength within herself to actually end things with Harry if it weren’t for Jon’s presence in her life?  If not for Jon, would she have ever had the courage to step out of her comfort zone and to choose love over duty?  Jon was willing to give up absolutely everything to be with her.  _Everything._ Why was she so afraid to tell Jon about what Harry had done?

Sansa needed to quit worrying about how Jon would react to finding out about Harry’s threats and to start trusting that Jon would always be by her side, just like he had vowed.  Jon loved her, body and soul.  He _trusted_ her.  She needed to do the same.

Exiting her bedroom, Sansa padded down the hallway toward the living room, taking a slow breath to steady her nerves as she prepared herself for the looming conversation.  She was ready to finally come clean and to tell Jon about Harry’s threats over the last few days.  They could work through this if Sansa and Jon stuck together.  Together Sansa and Jon could conquer anything that faced them.  As Sansa entered the living room, she saw Jon sitting on her couch, clutching his cell phone in both hands while staring at the screen.

“Hey!” Sansa chirped cheerfully as she entered the living room, smiling widely at Jon.  “Order the food yet?”

Jon did not reply.  Instead, he just sat motionless, continuing to stare blankly at the black screen on his phone.

“Jon?” Sansa asked, her ginger brows furrowing together in confusion.  “What’s the -”

“Harry tried calling you while you were in the shower,” Jon all but whispered, his jaw clenched, his eyes remaining fixated on his phone.  “Three times, actually.”

“He did?” Sansa gulped, swallowing hard upon sensing the explosion of tension in her living room.  She should have known something like this would happen.  She was stupid to wait this long to tell Jon about Harry’s antics over the last few days.

“I wanted to answer it,” Jon admitted, still not looking at Sansa.  “I wanted to tell Harry that he needed to leave you alone.  I didn’t, though.  It would have been wrong of me to violate your privacy like that.”

“Jon, I need to talk to you about Harry,” Sansa began, fumbling slightly with what she wanted to say as she approached the couch upon which Jon sat stiffly, “You need to know about what’s happened.”

“Have you talked with him at all since what happened in the God’s Wood?” Jon rasped tersely as he finally lifted his brown eyes to meet hers.  His knuckles were turning white as he gripped his phone.  He looked like he just might snap the damn thing right in two.

Sansa felt the color draining from her face when she met Jon’s angry stare.  “No, I haven’t spoken to him.  Not once,” she answered softly, seating herself beside Jon on the couch.

“Was this the first time that he has reached out to you?”

“No.”

“How many times has he tried?”

“Um…just a few.”

“Sansa, please stop being so bloody vague,” Jon hissed through gritted teeth, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.  “How.  Many.  Times?”

Sansa could feel the rage simmering just underneath the surface of Jon’s skin.  Her heart racing in her chest, Sansa knew without a doubt that Jon was angry well beyond her not having told him that Harry had tried to speak with her.  Something wasn’t adding up.

“Please, Jon,” Sansa began tentatively, choking down the tears that dared to form, “Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you sooner.  I wanted to tell you, I did.  You’ve just had so much going on these last few days…I didn’t want to be a burden.”  Reaching out hesitantly, Sansa placed her hand on Jon’s hand.

“Sansa, I’m…I’m not mad at _you_ , love,” Jon sighed heavily as he allowed her hand to cover his, entwining their fingers together as he took a deep, steady breath.  “I’m mad at Harry.  He treated you horribly, and now he wants you back.  You and I both know that.”

“But he can’t ‘have me back,’ Jon” Sansa replied firmly, scooting even closer to her lover.  “I’m not his possession.  He can’t act like a toddler and demand that you return his favorite toy.”

That analogy caused Jon to snort in amusement, “Favorite toy?”

“Go with it,” Sansa smiled slightly, elated that Jon’s mood was beginning to soften.

“Sansa, listen to me, please,” Jon said as he angled his body on the couch so he was now facing her, still holding onto her hand tightly, “I don’t trust Harry.  He’s not a good man.”

“I know,” she agreed with a nod, allowing Jon to continue.

“He’s threatened you, hasn’t he?” Jon stated bluntly, not beating around the bush.

Sansa’s blue eyes widened in astonishment.  “You know?”

“I do now.”

“How?  Did Sam tell you?  I don’t understand how you -”

“Would you like to see just how I know?” Jon interrupted her, releasing her hand and reaching for his phone sitting on the coffee table.  Swiping the touch screen, he unlocked his cell phone, tapping open his text messages.  “This is how.”

When Jon turned his phone so that Sansa could see what image he had pulled up on the screen, Sansa’s hands darted toward her mouth, covering it as a scream dared to escape her lips.

On Jon’s screen was a photo snapped the morning that Jon had left Sansa’s apartment after spending the night.  The slightly grainy footage showed Sansa standing in her robe in the parking lot, bracing herself against Jon’s truck as she leaned in to give him a kiss.  There would be no doubt in anyone’s mind who the two lovebirds were in the photo.

“After Harry’s last call while you were showering,” Jon continued, shooting his phone a glance before closing the opened message in disgust, “Both of our phones suddenly made a noise, mine indicating that someone had sent me a text.  And this is what I saw when I opened my messages.”

Sansa was horrified.  Harry was stalking her.  There was no other explanation for that photo’s existence.  And not only was he stalking her, but he was now tacitly threatening Jon as well.

“Has Harry done anything else?” Jon continued, now placing his phone back in its previous location onto the coffee table.  Reaching for Sansa, he gently removed her hands from her mouth and held onto both of them.  “Please, Sansa, tell me if he has.”

To be honest, Jon was not the least bit surprised to find about Harry’s threats.  In his tenure at Our Lady of the Wall, Jon had heard so many of Harry’s confessions that the longer Jon attempted to minister to Harry’s spiritual needs, the harder it was for Jon to not break the sanctity of confession and tell Sansa to run.

In the beginning, Harry confessed simple, normal things like how he had sexual thoughts about Sansa.  Jon was in no place to judge a man for that one.  Then as time passed, hearing Harry’s confessions became harder and harder for Jon to deal with as a priest and not as a man.

When Harry had told Jon about the two illegitimate kids he had sired, Jon almost felt his heart break for those two children.  Jon knew the pain of being rejected by one’s earthly father.  Yet, Jon rallied his strength, shoving his personal feelings aside and trying his best to counsel Harry to do the right thing and accept his paternal duties.  Of course, as soon as absolution was received, Harry had ignored all of Jon’s advice and guidance.  Then Harry started coming to confession to talk about his increasing desire to have Sansa before the act of holy matrimony had been established.  Again, Jon swallowed the jagged little pill of jealousy, disgust, and anger that Harry regularly administered to Jon as he tried to fulfill the duties of his vocation.

Plenty of outwardly faithful Catholic men and women had confessed countless sinful thoughts and behaviors over the course of Jon’s career.  Harry’s sins up until now were really not any worse than any others in the grand scheme of things.  Yet, the longer Jon had to deal with Harry and his desire to possess Sansa, the harder Jon had to pray to the Almighty Father to forgive both Harry for his transgressions and to forgive Jon for wanting to strangle the man sitting across from him in the confessional.

Catholic priests are sworn to secrecy; they are forbidden to reveal anything that they hear during confession.  Absolutely no one, not even the Pope himself, can command a priest to reveal the secrets heard during the sacrament.  Breaking the seal of confession means automatic excommunication for a priest.

Considering that Jon was not only in love with a woman while he still pretended to be a faithful, obedient servant of Christ but also that he was engaging in carnal pleasures with said woman, the threat of excommunication didn’t seem all that terrible if it meant that he could protect Sansa from further heartache.

Choking up as she tried to tell Jon, Sansa nodded her head, “Yes.  He…”

“What, Sansa?  What has that wretched man done to you?”

“He…well, I don’t have any evidence that it was him, but…”

“But what?” Jon pushed as he tried to keep his voice steady but failing miserably.

“Someone defaced my classroom,” she continued, her voice cracking as she opened the proverbial Pandora’s box regarding what had happened at the high school.  “Someone painted “whore” across my whiteboard, and Jeyne found it and reported it to Father Sam and Mother Superior Mary Melisandre.  The whole school probably knows about the incident by now.”

As Sansa’s words flowed from her mouth, her resolve not to cry broke.  Without missing a beat, Jon pulled her into his strong arms, wrapping her into an embrace, and gently kissed her forehead while he stroked her hair.  Holding Sansa as if he would never let her go, Jon closed his eyes, praying that God would restrain him from bolting out of Sansa’s apartment to hunt Harry down and beat the living shit out of him.

Jon had felt the breath hitch in his throat upon hearing her admit that Harry had been threatening her and that Sansa had tried to bear it all on her own shoulders.  Sansa had needed him, and what had Jon done?  Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  He had been so wrapped up within his own bubble of angst to even realize what was going on around him.  Sansa had quietly endured Harry’s wrath all the while supporting Jon throughout his turmoil.  And knowing that he had failed her, Jon suddenly felt like a royal, first-class dick.

“Sansa, I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through this all alone,” Jon murmured as he continued to hold her.  “Please forgive me.  I was too self-absorbed to care about what you might be going through.  Will you forgive me, love?”

Sniffling as she turned her head to look up into Jon’s face, Sansa seemed to relax slightly.  “Only if you’ll forgive me for not telling you sooner.”

“Always,” Jon vowed, “I could never stay mad at you.”

Seeing the love reflected back at him as he stared into her pretty, pale face, Jon wanted nothing more than to ensure not only Sansa’s safety, but to make sure that Harry faced the consequences of his actions.  What Harry was doing was illegal.

“Sansa, look at me,” Jon pled as he lifted her chin, tipping her face so they were eye-to-eye, “This has to stop.  Harry can’t be allowed to continue whatever the hell he thinks he is doing at present.  We have to go to the police.”

“The police?” Sansa gasped, her blue eyes blown comically wide.

“Yes, the police,” Jon continued, “He’s crossed the line, Sansa.  He’s vandalized the school; he’s threatened you with physical harm; and now he’s blackmailing _both_ of us with these photos.”

Sitting up on the couch, Sansa felt a terrible knot forming in her gut.  Throughout the last few days together with Jon as they grew closer, she had imagined that he would finally tell his superiors at the first of the week that he wanted to be released from his service to the Church and to petition the Church for laicization.  That would segway into Jon moving out of the rectory and most likely into Sansa’s apartment while they attempted to figure out what they would do next.  Most likely, she would be asked to leave her teaching position at the school.

She had never envisioned that her illicit relationship with her priest would wind up involving the authorities.

“You’re right,” Sansa finally agreed, sighing as she met Jon’s worried gaze, “I just…”

“Don’t be scared,” Jon smiled slightly.  “Everything will be fine in the end.  You’ll see.”

“How can you be so calm about the whole thing?” Sansa scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“It’s all an act, trust me,” Jon teased as he leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on Sansa’s plump lips, “I’d love nothing more than to drive to Harry’s place this very second and flatten him.”

Hearing Jon’s admission caused Sansa to crack a smile.  “But you won’t, right?  I mean, I really, _really_ do not want to have to come up with your bail money.”

“I’ll not touch him.”

“Promise?”

“I’m a priest, love,” Jon joked as he pulled a very willing Sansa into his lap, “Surely, you can trust a man who hears the confessions of others yet never reveals their secrets.”

“I trust you,” Sansa grinned as Jon’s hand toyed with the hem of her t-shirt.

“And I you,” Jon smiled, working his hands underneath the purple fabric.

“So, what happens next?” Sansa groaned when Jon’s fingers slid up her sides and underneath the curve of her breasts.

“Hmm…” Jon purred, cupping her breasts in his hands, testing the weight of them while he brushed his thumbs across her stiffening nipples.  “I don’t know where to start.  Couch?  Bed?”

“I mean about Harry,” Sansa giggled as she carded her hands through Jon’s curls.

A serious, thoughtful look overtook Jon’s face as he continued his ministrations, yet he did not reply immediately.  He wanted to say the right thing to Sansa, and damn if he wasn’t quite sure what that was at the moment.

Thankfully, Sansa used his moment of reflection to offer her own suggestion.

“I think we should talk to Father Sam tomorrow after the fall festival,” she began while allowing Jon to raise her shirt to expose her chest to Jon’s lustful gaze, “As a couple, I mean.  We should both sit down and tell him about us and about Harry’s behavior.  We should also probably go see Father Davos, too.  Then, we can go to the police if you still think that is the right thing to do.”

Jon felt nothing short of pride in Sansa’s suggestion.  She wanted to come out in the open about their romance to both Sam and to Father Davos.  Coming clean about their relationship would suck the proverbial wind right out of Harry’s sails, now wouldn’t it?  Certainly, a person would find it extremely hard to engage in blackmail or to reveal someone’s secret if that someone revealed it first.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Jon replied, lowering his mouth to nip at Sansa’s long neck.

“Not nearly enough,” she moaned as Jon’s hands made their way down her body until his right hand cupped her through her yoga pants.

“I still haven’t ordered the food, by the way,” Jon added as he began to massage her core through the layers of fabric covering her with his fingers.  “Would you rather eat now or eat later?”

“Later,” Sansa responded right before she attacked Jon’s waiting lips with her own.

Tomorrow they would stand united in front of the world to declare their love and to face whatever may come their way as a result of that love.  With Jon by her side, Sansa would finally stand up to Harry and would show him that she refused to be his victim any longer.

And when Jon rose to his feet, kissing Sansa with all of the passion and want that he felt coursing through his veins, he carried her to her bedroom bridal-style, silently vowing to protect her and to never let Harry Hardyng hurt her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think might happen tomorrow at the fall festival? I'm all ears. (Wink).


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the morning of the fall festival at Our Lady of the Wall, Father Jon meets in private with his friend, Edd Tollet, a police officer with the Hardhome Police Department, to discuss the rapid changes in the young priest's life over the last week as well as to ask Edd for his help in dealing with the looming threat Harry poses to Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter briefly delves into Father Jon's thoughts and conversation with Edd the morning of the fall festival at Our Lady of the Wall.

_“Leave him alone,” Jon hissed, shifting the heavy weight of his backpack still hanging on his right shoulder.  With the sound of Jon’s voice echoing through the deserted hallway of the east wing of Our Lady of the Wall, the empty corridor seemed like a ghost town this late Friday afternoon as Jon faced down Ramsay Bolton, the resident bully on campus, and his two thugs.  For a brief moment, Jon imagined himself a gunslinger in an old west showdown._

_Caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, Ramsay abruptly spun on his heels.  He sneered menacingly at the younger 6 th grade honor roll student who dared to challenge him.  As he slowly sauntered toward Jon, Ramsay motioned to his two minions who were standing at the ready, tacitly telling the tallest goon to keep a hold of Edd Tollett, the school’s new 6th grader and the unfortunate target of Ramsay’s afternoon wrath._

_“There’s no need for a fight, Snow,” Ramsay taunted, his piercing blue eyes focused on Jon as he approached.  “Just turn around and go while you still can.”_

_Jon gritted his teeth.  How many times had Father Davos told Jon to pray to The Mother of God to intercede with her Son on Jon’s behalf when he felt like he was consumed with anger?  And what_ _would his mother, Lyanna, think?  “Fools give vent to their full rage,” his mum had read to him from the Bible countless times, “_ _A hot-tempered person stirs up conflict, but the one who is patient calms a quarrel_ _.”_

_Human anger may not produce the righteousness that God desires, but Jon Snow did not back down from a fight._

_Steeling his nerves, Jon narrowed his eyes, glaring through his thick glasses at Ramsay.  “You’re right,” Jon agreed, dropping his backpack to his feet, “There’s no need for a fight.  But you want one.  So, we’re going to settle this the old-fashioned way.  You against me.”_

_Jon’s act of bravery caused the older bully to burst out into laughter.  “Are you for real?” Ramsay cackled, shooting a knowing look to his equally amused buddies as the one still held Edd against the locker.  Now standing in Jon’s personal space, Ramsay licked his lips in anticipation.  “I’m so going to enjoy kicking your nerdy ass,” Ramsay began, fisting two handfuls of Jon’s school uniform polo and shoving him roughly against the nearest locker, “And when I’m done, you’re gonna watch me while I do the same to your skinny little boyfriend over there.”_

_“The only ass getting kicked today is yours,” Jon vowed through clenched teeth, his fists tightening in preparation for battle._

_Witnessing such an utter act of defiance, Ramsay’s eyes widened in shock.  Infamous for his random acts of sadism toward the student body, he was not used to someone taking him on like this.  Everyone, including most of the adults, were frightened of Ramsay Bolton._

_Everyone but Jon Snow._

_Quickly saying a silent prayer to St. Michael, Jon executed a move right out of Jet Li’s playbook, swiftly wrenching Ramsay’s hands from his shirt and shoving Ramsay to his ass.  Without warning, one of Ramsay’s thugs lunged at Jon, but Jon managed to dodge the tall eighth-grader’s blow.  The older boy howled in pain when his fist made contact with the thick metal door of the locker behind Jon’s head._

_“Get him!” Ramsay screeched in anger, frantically scooting backward, witnessing Jon dispatch the first minion with ease._

_Taking advantage of the distraction, Edd latched onto the thug who had him pinned, kneeing the older kid right between the legs and landing a solid punch to the nose as the older boy fell to the floor in agony._

_Realizing he was defeated, Ramsay scrambled to his feet.  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, swallowing hard as he edged his way toward the exit with Jon stalking toward him.  “You’re right.  There’s no need for a fight!”  Before Ramsay could turn on his heels to escape, Jon lunged forward and tackled Ramsay, pinning the older boy onto the hallway floor.  He straddled Ramsay’s waist and began to pummel Ramsay, landing blow after blow, not stopping even when he heard Edd’s voice from behind him._

_“Jesus, Jon, that’s enough!” Edd shouted, forcefully jerking Jon off Ramsay.  Clutching Jon in a bear hug so he would stop flailing at his target, Edd held on tightly as Jon finally began to calm down.  Panting furiously, his bruised knuckles stained with Ramsay’s blood, Jon stared at the broken bully, watching Ramsay cry in pain on the floor, his two goons rolling about the school hallway right along with him.  Suddenly, both Jon and Edd heard the concerned voices of several adults drifting down the corridor, probably no doubt rushing to see what in the hell the commotion was all about._

_“Let’s get outta here!” Edd whispered forcefully, shoving Jon slightly to get his ass in gear, “C’mon!  Go!”  Jon snatched his backpack off the floor and dashed after Edd.  Bursting out of the school’s exit, the pair furiously ran to the bike rack._

_“I owe you, man.  Big time,” Edd grinned at Jon over his shoulder as they both jumped onto their bikes._

_“Oh, yeah?” Jon snorted, a slight smirk cracking at the corners of his mouth, “Maybe you should do my algebra homework for a month.”_

_“Fuck that,” Edd laughed, “I can’t even do my own!”_

_And with that reply, the two boys raced across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, escaping the scene at hand if only for a little while._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Walking along the sidewalk that led from the rectory to the Church offices, Jon smiled and waved at the sundry parishioners milling about the grounds as they enjoyed the various amusements of the fall festival that was already in full-swing that chilly, windy Saturday morning in Hardhome.  As he finally reached his destination, Jon paused momentarily, his hand still on the handle of the door to the offices.  He chanced a glance over his shoulder, gazing in the direction of the area corded off near the playground where Sansa and the other volunteers who were working the carnival games geared toward the smaller children were busy shuffling rubber ducks floating in inflatable kiddy pools and stacking plastic cups for kids to knock over with bean bags.

In that moment, all Jon wanted to do was sprint the short distance to where Sansa was busying herself as she helped run the games, to grab her by the hand, and to run like hell to his truck and drive anywhere but here.  Instead, Jon took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer to the Mother of God to help him remain focused today.  He and Sansa had discussed their plan of action.  For now, they must force themselves to continue their little charade for a couple more days.  Come Monday, the entire parish would know about Jon’s love for Sansa.  Come hell or highwater, they would endure whatever the good people of Hardhome threw their way.  And Harry be damned, Jon would make sure that the vengeful man had no leverage to continue his attacks on the woman Jon loved so dearly.

Lost in his thoughts, Jon did not realize that he was blatantly staring at Sansa now.  He remained frozen like a statue, hand on the Church door, grinning to himself like an idiot as he watched Sansa, watching her assist two preschool-age children as they tried their hand at the carnival games.  Her friend and fellow teacher, Jeyne Poole, was on duty with Sansa today, and whatever comment Jeyne made at that very moment caused Sansa to throw her head back in laughter, the cool breeze catching the stray strands of her curly ginger locks no longer contained by her loose low ponytail.  The creamy color of Sansa’s form-fitting turtleneck sweater made her skin glisten like porcelain today, especially when set against the ruddy colors of the mid-morning autumn sky.

Sansa was radiant.  Glowing, practically.  Jon couldn’t recall a time that he had seen Sansa appear so happy.  Tilting his head as he gazed upon her, Jon sighed deeply.  He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and proclaim to the world that she was his.  Both now and ever unto the ages of ages, Amen.

Although he had wanted to spend the night with Sansa at her apartment, Jon knew that he had to think rationally now, not with his manhood as he had been apt to do the last few days.  He knew that he needed to return to his own quarters at the rectory, if for no other reason than to get his head screwed on straight.  After hearing Sansa’s confession about Harry and his antics, Jon had to fight against the primal urge coursing through his veins that beckoned him to drive straight to Harry’s place and beat him to a bloody pulp.  Of course, that would have solved nothing, but it most certainly would have felt divine.

Luckily for Jon, after sharing dinner and a movie together, Sansa had been extremely accepting of his decision to forgo spending the night with her and to head back to the rectory.  Jon knew that she was disappointed, but she understood that he had to talk to Sam.  He had to tell Sam that he was unequivocally through pretending that he could live the life of a priest.

Jon also knew that he needed to call Father Davos and ask his mentor and surrogate father to meet with he and Sansa.  Even though Father Davos was well aware of Jon’s adoration of Sansa, Jon knew that the older priest still held doubts that Jon was serious about leaving the Church.  Being confronted face-to-face with the fact that the boy whom he had practically helped to raise was now cavorting with a parishioner would probably be Father Davos’s undoing, but it had to be done.  And that was exactly why Jon needed to bring Sansa to see Father Davos.  Perhaps if Father Davos could see just how much in love they were, then the older priest would finally realize that Jon was not only determined, but also that he making the right choice.

And so, during their evening of take-out cuisine and _The Princess Bride,_ Jon and Sansa formed their plan of attack.  They agreed to attend the festival and to honor their previous commitments.  Then, they would meet Sam at the rectory in the early afternoon before evening Mass.  After talking to Sam, Jon and Sansa would drive that Saturday evening to Father Davos’s place to break the news to him together.  Come Sunday, Jon would defer to Sam to conduct the Mass.  Once Monday came, Jon would speak to Father Aemon at the diocesan offices about his intent to relinquish his position.  Further, Sansa would speak to Mother Superior Mary Melisandre about her relationship with Jon and offer her resignation as well.

It was official.  Sansa and Jon were a couple.  In just a few short days, they would announce their status.  Everything sounded so easy.  Getting through the weekend, however, would be arduous at best when it came to dealing with Harry.

After a bit of persuasion, Sansa finally relented to Jon’s insistence that he ask the advice of an old friend of his, Edd Tollett, a former school mate and now detective with the Hardhome Police Department.  Edd was the first person whom Jon mentioned to Sansa when they discussed the legalities of Harry’s actions.  Jon trusted Edd implicitly; he knew that Edd would neither judge him nor turn his back on him for leaving the Church for the love of a woman.  Even though Edd himself had left the Church and hadn’t darkened the doors in almost a decade, he was still extremely close to both Jon and Sam.  Over the years, Jon and Sam both had gently tried to nudge Edd to come back to the fold, prodding Edd to come to confession, to Mass, and to reconcile with God.  No such luck.  How ironic it was that Jon would wind up being the one to make confession to Edd this morning in the very Church they had made their Confirmation together with Sam all those years ago.

Sighing to himself as he still wallowed in his trance outside the Church office, Jon felt a hand grasp his shoulder firmly, startling him back to conscious thought.

“’Morning, padre,” Edd said, snorting in amusement that he had snuck up on his friend.  When Jon turned to face him, Edd’s eyebrows furrowed at the slightly disheveled sight before him.  “Jesus, Jon.  You look like shit.  You been getting enough sleep?”

“Good to see you too, Edd,” Jon laughed, pulling Edd into a quick man-hug.  As always, Edd was brutally honest and painfully direct, two traits that had often gotten Edd in a jam back in the day.  “Thanks for meeting me here this morning.”

“Only for you would I set foot here again,” Edd huffed, “And on my day off, no less, so this had better be good.”

“Trust me, Edd,” Jon replied, stealing a glance over Edd’s shoulder toward Sansa, “I wouldn’t have asked you here this morning if it weren’t of the utmost importance.”  With that assertion, Jon swung open the door to the Church offices, motioning for Edd to enter before him.

“Oh, well, now I’m good and curious,” Edd mumbled as he shuffled into the building with Jon following closely behind him.  Passing Edd as they made their way toward Jon’s office, Jon walked briskly toward his office.  Along the way, Edd grimaced at the various images of the Catholic faith hanging on the walls of the corridor that stared down upon him.  “So, Jon, are you going to give me a clue, or do I have to guess what this is all about?”

As Jon opened the door to his office, allowing Edd to enter first before closing the door behind them, he sighed heavily.  Jon knew that there was no point in beating around the proverbial bush with Edd since he had the uncanny ability to see through bullshit like no one else that Jon had ever known.

“Well, for starters,” Jon began as he seated himself in his office chair, not waiting for Edd to be seated first, “I found out who my birth father was a couple of days ago.”

“You did?” Edd gasped, his hazel eyes widening in curiosity.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“A priest from Casterly Rock came to see me.”

“A priest?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But…why did a priest…”

“It turns out that before his death, my father had asked him to come visit me.  Turns out that my father was a priest as well.  He was a priest when my mother fell in love with him.”

“Come again?” Edd all but whispered, literally falling into the tan visitor chair opposite from Jon.

“And I’m in love, too,” Jon stated bluntly, a hint of a smile peeking on his lips.  “I’ve fallen in love with one of my parishioners, and I’m leaving my vocation as a priest to be with her.”

“Wait, woah…you’re _what?_ ” Edd gasped in complete shock.

“I’m sorry, Edd.  I know that’s a whole lot of information to take in at once,” Jon replied nervously, trying to be patient and wait for Edd to process the sudden deluge of intel before bringing up Harry.  Silent as a stone, Edd appeared to be unable to form a coherent thought as he processed his long-time friend’s declarations of love and parentage.  Running one of his hands through his shaggy brown hair, Edd exhaled deeply as the information began to sink in.

“Edd?” Jon asked cautiously, bracing himself for the interrogation his friend would most likely commence any second.  “Say something.  Anything.  Please.”

“You’re really leaving the priesthood for a woman?” Edd finally regurgitated slowly.

"I am."

“Does Sam know any of this?”

“Yeah, he does.  All of it.”

“And he supports you?”

Jon couldn’t help but grin slightly.  “Sam is very understanding of the situation, all things considered.”

“Does anyone else know about this?” Edd probed further, taking another deep breath as he leaned back in his chair, scratching his ruddy beard with his hand as he began to process Jon’s bombshell.

“Just Father Davos and the ex-boyfriend who is trying to blackmail me,” Jon offered flatly.

Edd’s eyes widened instantly.  “Blackmail?  Someone’s trying to blackmail you?”

“Look, Edd, I asked you here today because, well, I wanted to tell you in person about all of this, especially my decision to leave the priesthood,” Jon began as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the top of his desk.  “I also need your help.”

“In what way?” Edd asked.

Jon looked down at his hands briefly before meeting Edd’s bumfuzzled face, “I’m afraid that Sansa’s ex-boyfriend will do something stupid.  He’s already threatened her with physical violence.  I know that for a fact.  And now, he’s stalking her, and he’s threatening to expose us before Sansa and I can come out in the open with our relationship.”

“Christ, Jon…” Edd groaned.  Shaking his head as he snorted in both shock and amusement, he couldn’t help but needle Jon a bit.  “I am talking to Jon, right?  I mean, you sound like him but the words coming out of your mouth…I don’t recognize you.  Your eyes are still brown.  Is that still you in there?”

“It’s me,” Jon said with a chuckle, “At least I think so.”

“That’s funny,” Edd sniffed, narrowing his eyes while scrutinizing Jon, “You sure it’s still you in there?”  As the two men fell into a comfortable silence after laughing together at Edd’s jest, Edd thought about what Jon had said.  Jon had been Edd’s friend for years.  They had been through virtually everything together, save for seminary.  There was nothing that Edd wouldn’t do for Jon.  He’d follow him anywhere.

“So, her name is Sansa, is it?” Edd suddenly interjected, breaking the silence, “It’s very pretty.”

“Yeah…it is,” Jon answered with a huge smile.  “Wait until you meet her.”

“I have no doubt that she is,” Edd chuckled.  Sighing heavily, Edd sat straight as an arrow, lifting his chin as he spoke.  “So, tell me,” Edd began, nodding to Jon to continue with his tale, “Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next...
> 
> Sansa is publicly confronted by Harry at the fall festival about her relationship with Father Jon. Will she flee, or will she stand her ground?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from her volunteer duties at the fall festival, Sansa loses herself momentarily to her thoughts and dreams about a life with Father Jon. Her reverie, however, is interrupted by Harry, who is bent on making a scene right in the middle of the huge crowd of parishioners gathered at the concessions area. And much to Harry's surprise, Sansa refuses to cower to him any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab some popcorn and get ready for one cringe-worthy scene, vivilove! I was thinking of you and your disdain for public displays while writing this chapter!

_“Hey, Father Jon,” Sansa grinned at the young priest when he flopped down on the couch beside her.  “Wow, you look exhausted!”_

_“You could say that again,” Jon chuckled, sitting down his bottle of beer on the table in front of them, laying his curly head on the back of the sofa and reaching out to rub his tired brown eyes.  “It’s just been such a long week.  I’m worn out.”_

_Quickly glancing about the parish hall to see if anyone was looking at the two of them, Sansa couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy now that she was sitting just a few inches away from the very object of her desire, right smack-dab in the middle of the Young Adults game night being held here at the church’s parish hall this hot, muggy, late summer Saturday night.  As usual, Harry was busy laughing and joking around with his buddies from the Knights of Columbus over at the food table, once again ignoring Sansa and leaving her to her own devices as soon as they had darkened the doors.  Not that she minded, really, especially since that meant she could steal a moment alone with Jon here and there throughout the evening._

_“Honestly, I don’t know how you guys do it,” Sansa tittered, taking another swig from her own beer, trying to be dainty as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand._

_“Do what?” Jon asked curiously, a small grin appearing on his bearded face, dropping his hands to his lap and turning his head still resting on the couch to look at her._

_“Be a priest,” Sansa stated bluntly, “I don’t see how you can spend your life listening to everyone else’s problems and trying to be so holy all the time.”  Seeing Jon’s eyes widen comically at her statement, she regretted her words instantly.  She had never been much of a drinker, usually sticking with water at social events such as these.  Tonight, however, Sansa had already downed two beers and was about to finish her third.  Thanks to her squabble with Harry on the drive over here tonight, coupled with the errant thoughts about Jon swirling in her head for the last two hours, Sansa had thought that maybe a little alcohol would help her to relax.  Unfortunately, the only thing that the alcohol had managed to relax was her tongue._

_“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, desperate to apologize to Jon, “Really, I’m so -”_

_“Nothing to be sorry about, Sansa,” Jon spoke tenderly.  Slowly rising to a seated position, leaning forward so his arms rested on his thighs, Jon sighed heavily as he stared blankly at the coffee table before him.  “You’re absolutely right.  It’s not easy being a priest.  Living your life for others…hearing confessions…giving up a chance at love for the Church…”  As his words trailed off into silence, Jon angled his head so he was looking directly at Sansa.  His expression had mutated into something that Sansa found herself struggling to define._

_Sansa felt her breath hitch in her throat.  It felt like Jon was looking into her very soul._

_Surrounded by people, the raucous rounds of laughter and merriment echoing in the large room, Sansa heard nothing but the sound of the blood pounding in her ears.  She wanted to believe.  She wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, Jon felt something for her.  But it was impossible.  He was a priest.  Surely, she was misreading his intent as always._

_“No one should have to give up a chance at love,” Sansa all but whispered as she clasped her hand tightly on his forearm, an action that caused his eyes to widen in surprise, “It’s just not fair, Jon.  It’s not fair at all.”_

_Lost in the glory of Jon’s intense, searching gaze, Sansa realized that although she had just breeched social etiquette by touching him and calling him by his Christian name alone, she truly didn’t care.  Instead of reacting disgusted by her lack of decorum, Jon moved one of his own hands to rest on top of hers, squeezing hers slightly as he blinked back his emotions.  She could feel her chest rising and falling with every beat of her heart as Jon held onto her, obviously not caring that they were still in the presence of the thirty or so young adults mixing and mingling at the church here tonight._

_“You don’t know how much you mean...how much your words mean to me, Sansa,” Jon murmured, his eyes scissoring across her pale features while still holding her hand in his._

_And as the gregarious sounds of the folks talking and laughing echoed somewhere in the background of Sansa’s slightly buzzed brain, all she could hear were the unspoken words bubbling just under the surface between her and this beautiful, beautiful man of God._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

For the next hour while Jon and Edd talked, Sansa found herself actually enjoying her morning as she helped her colleague, Jeyne Poole, run the kids’ zone at the fall festival.  Reluctant at first to see Jon leave her apartment last night, Sansa knew that Jon was making the right decision to return to the rectory.  She would just have to be patient.  In a few more days, Jon would be hers.

Last night while he was with her, they had formulated a plan.  They would tell the people closest to Jon about their relationship, and then after she and Jon notified their superiors come Monday, she and Jon would plan to drive up to Winterfell to break the extremely surprising news to her family.  Sansa knew that her parents would be completely devastated at first, but it was of no consequence now.  She was tired of living her life to please others.  From now on, Sansa Stark would follow her heart.

And her heart led directly to Jon Snow.

With Jon by her side, Sansa knew that she could withstand the shitstorm that would ensue.  Her parents would most assuredly freak out at first, but given time, Sansa hoped that her mother and father would come to see how much she and Jon were in love.  And when it came to her siblings, God knows that not a one of them had any room to complain about Sansa’s choice in men.  Jon was an amazing man, priest or not.  Surely, they would learn to accept him and his decision to leave the priesthood.  If Father Jory had only been strong enough to do the same, what heartache could have been prevented from his untimely death.

Taking a quick glance at her watch, Sansa knew that by now, Jon would most likely be deep in conversation with his childhood friend, Edd.  Although she felt a slight twinge of embarrassment at the idea that this police officer whom she had never met would now know that she and Jon were engaged in an illicit relationship, Sansa also felt a tremendous amount of relief.  Knowing that Jon was beginning to talk to other people besides Father Davos and Sam about their burgeoning romance meant that Jon was committed to her.  He truly loved her.  He meant every word he had said to her over the last few days.  Not that he had ever given Sansa any reason to doubt his sincerity, but it still felt like a dream.  Sansa just couldn’t believe how lucky she was that Jon had chosen her over the Church.

As Sansa strolled the short distance from the preschool zone of the fall festival where she had been working toward the concessions area, she smiled and waved at the sundry high school students walking about the festival with their families.  Checking her watch yet again, she grinned at the thought that after her fifteen-minute break, she would only have an hour to go and she would be free.  No more volunteer duties at the church today.  Once finished, Sansa would soon be fleeing from the festival to meet Jon back at her place.  Just the thought of being alone with Jon again sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine.  How she adored that man.

After snagging a cup of lemonade from some of the ladies from the Women’s Guild who were running the booth, Sansa took a seat at one of the picnic tables to rest and to daydream about what her life would be like in just a few short days.  She stretched her feet and ankles, enjoying her beverage as she watched the patrons mill about the different activities at the festival.  She couldn’t help but smile at seeing the vast array of parents flitting about the grounds with their kids, laughing and talking while enjoying their time together.

Hanging out with the younger children this morning had put thoughts into Sansa’s head that she has squelched when she had begun to date Harry.  Although once upon a time Sansa had dreamed of having a huge family of her own one day, her school-girl fantasy withered away the longer she remained in Harry’s clutches.  The thought of bearing Harry’s children was a rather dreadful proposition.  In their time together, Sansa stopped feeling the desire to procreate, a sinful thought in and of itself for a young, virile Catholic woman.  But now, after only a few short days with Jon, Sansa found herself daydreaming once again of what life would be like with a pack of small ones running about the house.  How fast her whole world view had shifted since Jon had become her clandestine lover.

Still savoring her lemonade, Sansa felt her lips quirk into a tiny grin at thinking about Jon and how protective of her he had been last night when they had talked about their plans for today.  Initially, Jon had all but insisted that Sansa bail out of her volunteer hours this morning at the fall festival, knowing full-well that the chances of running into Harry were extraordinarily high, especially since Harry was one of the uppity-ups in the Knights of Columbus, which was one of the major sponsors of the whole shebang.  Jon had assured her that she need not make an appearance in light of the whole situation at hand, but something inside Sansa snapped.

In that moment as Jon held her while snuggled together on her couch, her head resting on his chest while he gently stroked her auburn hair, Sansa decided that she was through with being afraid of Harry.  If her colleagues found out about her affair with Jon before they were ready to announce their relationship, then so be it.  In just a few short days, Jon and Sansa would be going public anyway, so in the grand scheme of things, what really did it matter?

Though Jon was startled by her sudden burst of self-assurance, he had been pleased beyond belief that Sansa was ready to stand her ground and to face what consequences may come their way.  Sansa Stark was done.  D-O-N-E.  She was through living her life for others, particularly her mother and father.  She was through worrying about losing her teaching gig at Our Lady of the Wall.  She was through fretting about what may come from her loving a man of the cloth.  And more importantly, Sansa was through being scared of Harry Hardyng.

Still sitting at the picnic table, Sansa smiled to herself as she thought about how glorious it would feel to undermine Harry’s notion that he had the upper hand at present.  She drifted into a moment of reverie, daydreaming about what would happen if Sansa called Harry’s bluff and let the proverbial cat out of the bag regarding her relationship with Jon.  It assuredly would make things difficult for Harry should Sansa go public before he pulled another stunt.

Checking her watch, Sansa realized that she was due to go back to finish her volunteer hours.  She reached for her empty cup of lemonade, intent on crushing it and pitching it into the nearest trash can.  Before she could manage to rise from her bench seat, whom should Sansa see walking her direction but the very man that she hoped to avoid.

 _Speak of the devil,_ Sansa groaned inwardly as she caught sight of her former boyfriend and his two buddies approaching her.  As Harry swaggered toward the picnic tables, cock-sure and uppity as always, Sansa silently prayed for the strength to endure what may come.

“Hey, guys, get a load of this,” Harry chuckled darkly to his sidekicks, who were standing on either side of him as they stopped less than a foot from Sansa’s table.  “Looks like Sister Sansa decided to show her face here at the festival after all.”

Sansa’s highly alert eyes quickly darted around the concessions area in which she found herself.  The school grounds were terribly crowded this morning, thanks to both the patrons and the volunteer staff present.  The concessions area was no exception.  Several families and colleagues from the high school were well within earshot if Harry chose to run his mouth as usual.  And if the sinister sneer forming on Harry’s face were any indication of his intent, Sansa knew that Harry fully intended to publicly shame her right here, right now in the middle of the fall festival with hundreds of people to witness her derision.

“Nice to see you too, Harry,” Sansa spat sarcastically, raising her chin defiantly, looking him directly in the eyes as she abruptly rose from her seat, “But you know what, I was just leaving.”  Turning abruptly to make her exit, Sansa stopped dead in her tracks when Harry opened his mouth yet again.

“What’s the rush, sweetheart?” Harry taunted at the top of his voice, snorting in amusement at his own words while his two buddies snickered in unison.  “Afraid everyone will find out you’ve been cheating on me with a priest?”

Sansa’s face began to turn a deep shade of crimson while she stood motionless, her back still facing Harry and company.  She could feel the shocked stares of the people sitting at the tables next to her burning holes into her.

“How is Father Jon doing, by the way?” Harry continued, basking in the attention that was being turned his direction.  “The two of you looked so _cozy_ the last time I saw you guys together.”

In that moment, Sansa knew that Harry fully intended to push this hateful game as far as he possibly could.  Harry planned to drag her reputation through the mud right here at the festival.  He probably thought that he would be looked upon as the jilted lover, the poor, pitiful man used and mistreated by the wicked redheaded slut.  This was assuredly _not_ how Sansa had imagined the good folks of Hardhome finding out that she was involved with the parish priest.

With her jaw clenched, Sansa spun on her heels to face Harry.  Her eyes darting around the concessions area once again, Sansa could see the astounded faces of the parishioners who had been privy to the showdown.  They all were watching her closely now, waiting with baited breath as the current episode of the Sansa Stark show unfolded.  God save her but she was about to make a scene.  She was actually going to make a scene smack-dab in the middle of the fall festival, daring her ex-boyfriend to out her and Jon in broad daylight.

If she were going to wear a scarlet “A” on her chest, then it would be at her own hands, not Harry’s.

“Tell me, Harry,” she challenged Harry openly, folding her arms in front of her, “Where _did_ you last see me and Jon together?”

That question immediately wiped the smirk off Harry’s face.  He quickly shot a puzzled look at his two goons.  One just shrugged his shoulders while the other looked as confused as Harry did.  With a perplexed stare, Harry’s eyes narrowed as he responded, “Are you an idiot?  You really want me to say it?”

“Sure,” Sansa retorted smugly, “Go on, then; say it.”

Sniffing as he glanced around at the growing audience surrounding them, Harry went in for the kill.  “You know I saw the two of you at your apartment.  Very early in the morning, might I add.”  He and his goons chuckled to themselves, obviously pleased that the proverbial cat had been released from its confinements for all the world to hear.

Sansa heard the gasps of shock from the onlookers echoing around her.  Undaunted, she decided to turn the tables on Harry.  “You forgot the part where you were sitting outside of my apartment hoping to snap photos so you could blackmail me,” Sansa replied with an air of dignity not befitting her current situation.

Harry’s mouth gaped open at her admission of guilt.  “Did you just admit that Father Jon was at your apartment overnight?”

“Are you admitting that you are stalking me?” Sansa fired back instantly.

A hush swept over the entire concessions area.  Taking a deep, anxious breath, Harry’s eyes darted all around him.  To his surprise, the huge crowd of witnesses to the scene unfolding were now gaping at _him_ with shock and disdain.  How quickly the tables had turned on him.

“I bet you also know who was responsible for defacing my classroom the other day, don’t you, Harry?” Sansa added without hesitation, her arms dropping to her sides as she slowly started to walk toward him, relishing the way Harry’s eyes burst impossibly wide.

“Oh, and for the record,” Sansa said haughtily, stopping just inches from Harry and staring him right in the eye, “Jon is doing just fine.”  With that last salvo, Harry lunged forward, grabbing her by her upper arm and jerking her toward him.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Harry seethed through clenched teeth, glaring hatefully at Sansa because she hadn’t cowered to his nefarious scheme.

“And you’re a pig,” she hissed in return, wincing slightly at the pain Harry’s fingers were causing as they dug into her flesh, “You’re nothing but a horny, hateful pig who can’t deal with the fact that I don’t want you anymore.”

Before Harry could reply, Sansa hear Jon’s voice from her behind her.

“Enough!” Jon yelled as he stomped toward the fiasco, “Let her go!”.  When Sansa turned to look over her shoulder, she saw that Jon was briskly walking toward her along with a man whom she didn’t recognize following closely behind him.  Sansa knew that the man must be Jon’s friend, Edd.

“Come to rescue your girlfriend?” Harry openly taunted Jon in front of the crowd without letting go of Sansa.

“I said, release her!” Jon snarled as his hands curled into tight fists.  “This ends now, Harry.  Right.  Now!”  Before Jon could lunge forward, Edd jumped in front of Jon, shoving him squarely in the chest with both hands, grinding Jon’s steps to a halt.

“Don’t,” Edd growled at Jon, “Don’t give him what he wants.  You.  Stay.  Here.”

Jon wanted nothing more than to kick Harry’s ass right here, right now, in front of the entire parish and God Himself.  Although Jon wanted to grab Harry and do serious physical harm, Jon knew that Edd was right.  If he laid a hand on Harry, Jon would not only be run out on a rail but he would also be headed to jail.  Punching Harry would only add grease to the gasoline fire that he had lit out here on the church grounds this morning.

Without saying a word, Jon could only manage a nod of consent to Edd’s command.

While Edd was dealing with Jon, Harry tugged Sansa flush with his broad chest, leaning down to whisper into her ear, “This isn’t over.  Not even close.”

“Take your hands of the lady,” Edd deadpanned as he marched himself right up into Harry’s personal space.

“Who’s going to make me?” Harry snarked, glaring down at the shorter man before lifting his self-satisfied grin to silently challenge Jon to do something.

“Me,” Edd replied dryly, whipping his badge out of his back pocket and shoving it in Harry’s face.  “Just me.”

That got Harry’s attention.  “Hey, look, I don’t want any trouble,” Harry bumbled, jerking his hand off Sansa like she was burning his hand.  Harry took a few steps backward as she quickly spun on her heels and dashed toward Jon.

“Yeah, right.  Of course, you don't,” Edd snorted as he stepped further into Harry’s personal space, smirking as the taller man backed up several more steps.  Stuffing his badge back into his jeans, Edd warned, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll not so much as breathe the same air that Miss Stark is breathing, or you’ll find yourself going on a visit to the station with me.  Now get lost.”  With that threat looming in the air, Harry and his sidekicks bolted from the scene.  Turning to face the audience of onlookers, Edd waved the crowd to disperse, “Nothing to see here, folks.  Go back to your festival.  Show’s over.”

While Edd was busy trying to bust up the horde of onlookers, Sansa silently stood facing Jon, not daring to touch him or to hold him like she so desperately wanted.  Now all Sansa felt like doing was fleeing to her car and never coming back.

“They know,” Sansa murmured, her voice cracking slightly now that the adrenaline rush that had sustained her during her face-off with Harry had disappeared, “They all know.”

“It’ll be alright, Sansa,” Jon spoke softly, the tense expression he had sported moments ago fading into one of pleasantness the minute she spoke to him, “Everything will be fine.”  With that simple statement, Jon reached out tentatively, afraid that he would scare Sansa away from him like he did when she came to see him on Wednesday morning to confess her feelings for him.  He brushed his fingers against her limp hand as it dangled by her side, lightly rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Jon…” Sansa began, unsure of what to say as Jon’s hand enveloped hers.  She felt her breath hitch in her throat when she met his loving gaze.  He was holding her hand.  In public.  Even though Edd had managed to break up the crowd, people were still watching the two of them closely.

“Amor omnia vincit,” Jon smiled at her reassuringly.

Sansa couldn’t help but grin at Jon’s comment.  “Love conquers all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Omina vincit amor," or "Love conquers all," is a saying that is attributed to Virgil in _Eclogue X_ , line 69.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday has arrived in Hardhome, and now both Father Jon and Sansa must face the congregants of Our Lady of the Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti...

_“Are you absolutely sure, Jon?” Father Davos sighed heavily from his seat on the wing-back chair of his living room, reaching up to scratch at his graying beard while staring hard at the young man he had mentored for all of these years.  “There’s no coming back from this if either of you change your minds.”_

_“I’m sure,” Jon nodded vigorously, pursing his lips tightly.  “I’ve never been as sure of anything in all my life.”  He had never meant to disappoint his mentor, benefactor, and father-figure.  Telling Father Davos that he was really going to leave the priesthood to be with Sansa had been painful, yet to his surprise, Jon felt nothing now but a sense of sheer relief at having spoken the truth.  He knew that Sansa, who was waiting in the kitchen after volunteering to step out for minute to give Jon some privacy with his mentor, would completely understand._

_“Then there is nothing left for me to say,” Father Davos spoke softly, a tinge of sadness in his deep voice as his eyes examined Jon’s countenance.  Rising from his seat, Father Davos moved to stand in front of his large picture window, gazing blindly at the colorful array of autumn leaves dangling from the row of trees lining the street of his condo complex._

_“I’m so sorry that I’ve disappointed you,” Jon added quickly, bounding out of his seat and walking over to where Father Davos stood.  Standing shoulder to shoulder, Jon looked down at his feet as he continued, “I never meant for any of this to happen, but it did.  I love her, Father Davos.  I love Sansa so much…”_

_Hearing the way that Jon’s voice cracked slightly, Father Davos felt a lump forming in his throat that dared to choke him.  Although Father Davos had prayed for years that Jon would find happiness in his vocation, deep-down he had always known that Jon was too much like his beautiful mother to succeed.  So much about the young man reminded him of Lyanna: strong-willed; full of passion; and possessing a thirst for knowledge that could put any scholar to shame.  Perhaps if Father Davos hadn’t steered him toward such a vocation, Jon would have become a professor of the Classics.  Lyanna would have liked that, come to think of it.  She had never wanted Jon to take his vows.  If only Father Davos had listened to her…_

_Patting Jon’s hand that was resting on his shoulder now, the older priest turned to face Jon.  “You have never been a disappointment to me, Jon.  It’s my fault that you entered the priesthood in the first place.  God save me, but I should have listened to your mum and kept my mouth shut.”_

_Father Davos’s words made Jon’s dark eyebrows raise.  “But it was my decision to become a priest.  No one forced me; why would I blame you?”_

_“You should,” the older man replied tersely._

_Unsure of what to say next, the two men fell silent and turned their eyes toward the picture window.  While staring at the horizon, the golden hues of the late evening sky blazing with a fury like neither man had ever seen, Father Davos closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted as always to Lyanna.  He could picture her in his mind as vividly as if she were really standing in front him.  How Father Davos longed to see her again in this life.  At times when all alone, he often imagined the sound of her lilting laugh echoing off in the distance.  For years, Father Davos had consciously denied the truth, beating down his feelings of adoration and affection for the woman who had stolen his heart over two decades ago._

_Since Jon and Sansa had arrived at his condo almost an hour prior, Father Davos had witnessed the virtually tangible bond between the two lovers.  There was absolutely no doubt in the older priest’s mind that Sansa loved Jon as much as he loved her.  Seeing them together made long-suppressed questions bubble to the surface: what might have happened if Father Davos had possessed the strength to confess his feelings to the woman he secretly loved?  Would he have found the same happiness with Lyanna if he had been as brave as Jon?_

_“Please, Father Davos…I need to know that you will at least try to understand my decision,” the younger priest finally spoke quietly, assuming that his mentor’s continued silence meant his condemnation.  “Please don’t shut me out.”_

_Clearing his throat, Father Davos turned where he stood, scrutinizing Jon’s worried features.  He loved Jon like his own son; he always had.  It was obvious that Jon desperately wanted his blessing to leave the priesthood, even though Jon assumed it would never come.  Jon might be willfully breaking countless canonical codes of law with the Church, but Father Davos couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t denounce Jon._

_Without hesitation, Father Davos pulled Jon into an embrace, hugging him with all his might, “God is merciful, son.  Only He can judge you.  Pray for His forgiveness, and go in peace in the knowledge that I will never abandon you.  Never.”_

_And as Jon broke down while all-but smothered in his surrogate father’s grasp, Sansa peeked out from the kitchen where she had inadvertently overheard the entire conversation between the two men, wiping the tears of both sadness and joy streaming down her pale cheeks as she looked upon them._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

As the congregation filed into Our Lady of the Wall for the 9:00 AM Mass, Jon paced nervously in the sacristy, unable to truly focus on anything at the moment.  Still not fully vested, Jon sported only his alb, clutching the cincture in his hands.  He felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite at the moment this cool, crisp Sunday morning.  Instead of standing by the woman he loved, here he stood behind the altar, preparing to walk out there like nothing had changed.

“Really, Jon,” Sam sighed as he watched Jon reach the end of the sacristy again, spinning on his black dress shoes to head the other direction for the millionth time in ten minutes, “You’re going to wear out a path in the carpet if you keep that up much longer.”

“I can’t do this,” Jon pled, not stopping his nervous habit while glancing upward, meeting his long-time friend’s worried expression, “I just…how can I…with all that has happened, I…”

“Jon, please,” Sam sighed yet again as he draped his stole around his neck, “Just tie your cincture and finish getting dressed.  It’ll be fine.  You won’t erupt into flames, I promise.”

Lost inside his inner struggles, Jon didn’t even hear Sam’s attempt at levity.  All Jon could think about was Sansa.  He really had no business being back behind the altar this morning, none at all.  He was in love.  He was in love with a woman, and he was on the verge of walking away from his vocation.  How in the name of all that is holy could he step foot out there this morning in front of the congregation, singing and praying and administering the Sacraments like nothing had changed?

Ready to turn once again to pace the length of the sacristy, Jon came to an abrupt halt when Sam suddenly stepped directly in his pathway to stop him.  “I shouldn’t even be back here, Sam,” Jon huffed in irritation, not really at his friend and fellow priest but at himself.

“I know that,” Sam smiled slightly, reaching out to place his hand on Jon’s shoulder, “But you _need_ to be back here.  Where else would you be right now, hmm?  Brooding all alone in the rectory?  Sitting out there in layman’s clothes in the pews with Sansa before you’ve even had a chance to talk to Father Aemon?”

Jon lowered his eyes in frustration.  By Sansa’s side was exactly where he wanted to be, but having caused such a scene yesterday at the fall festival, he was fully aware that because tongues were wagging wildly among the good people of Hardhome, Jon needed to play it cool.  After shooing most folks away from the concessions area, Edd had demanded that he personally follow Sansa home.  Once there, Edd argued, he would stay with her until Jon could make his excuses to leave Our Lady of Wall and to head to Sansa’s place.  Desperate to evade any further tittering among the folks still milling about the area, Sansa agreed immediately to Edd’s plan of action.  Jon, however, had wanted to stay at church, telling them both that gossip be damned, he and Sansa shouldn’t have to be ashamed.

Edd, who was well-versed in Jon’s short temper and bouts of broodiness, simply rolled his eyes at Jon, shaking his head and telling Jon absolutely not.  With that statement, Edd told Sansa to lead the way to her vehicle, shooting Jon a terse look before turning to leave.  Thanks be to God that Jon had the foresight to ask Edd to be present yesterday.  Otherwise, Jon would have chased Harry down and inflicted untold damage.

“I’ve committed mortal sins in the eyes of the Church,” Jon snorted loudly, “You know I can’t celebrate the Mass.”

“You won’t; I will,” Sam stated firmly, “Can you not even see why I want you back here today?”

Jon simply shook his head.

“I’m keeping you here with me this morning to prevent you from engaging in a fist fight during the Eucharist,” Sam bluntly replied.

Rolling his eyes, his scowl slowly fading, Jon smiled just a tiny bit at Sam’s keen observation.  “Perhaps you’re right.”

Smiling in return, Sam patted Jon’s shoulder before letting him go, “I’m always right.  Now get dressed.  We’re going to be late.”  With that parting shot, Sam turned to complete his prayers as he finished putting on his liturgical vestments.

While Jon was busy wrestling with his own thoughts and vestments, Sansa sat alone inside her Honda, staring blankly at her steering wheel as she tried to get the nerve to walk out of her vehicle and into the Church.  She had come to Mass this morning with the intent to prove to herself that she could be strong.  She needed to prove to everyone that she could walk in the midst of all their stares and gossip without feeling ashamed.  She also wanted to prove to Jon that she could endure whatever may come.

After the fiasco yesterday at the fall festival, Sansa had felt like a weak, pathetic woman for tucking tail and running home.  All she had wanted to do while Edd was walking her to her car was to bolt up the stairs to her apartment, burst inside her home, and lock out the entire world save for Jon.  But by the time she was pulling into her apartment complex, the only thing that Sansa felt like doing was bending over and kicking her own ass for the way she had run from the shocked and disgusted looks from her fellow parishioners.

Once at her apartment, Sansa had insisted that Edd could leave and that she would be fine.  Edd, however, politely declined, telling her that he had made a promise to Jon that he would look out for her, and look out for he would.  Thankfully, Edd kept his promise, keeping her company for a few hours while she waited for Jon to figure out how to excuse himself from his duties and to come stay with her.  Quickly, Sansa came to appreciate Edd’s dry wit and extremely direct approach.  He made no bones about it; although he was stunned that Jon was walking away from the Church, Edd supported Jon’s decision.  Sansa took comfort in the fact that he approved of her.  It shouldn’t matter to her, really, but it did.

After Jon had arrived at her apartment, Edd took off, telling the both of them that he would be headed over to the station to talk to his captain about Harry and his attempt at blackmail.  Once Edd was gone, Sansa and Jon collected themselves before meeting with Sam.  Sansa was relieved that Sam had suggested that he meet with the pair of them for lunch over at Hotpie’s, not back at Church.  During their lunch, Sansa smiled almost constantly at the two men as they interacted, talking openly about everything right in front of her.  To her amusement, the two priests regressed at times, treating each other like boys more than grown men with all their teasing and inside jokes.

When Sam suggested that Jon lay low the rest of the day and Jon agreed, Sansa felt a tremendous amount of relief.  She also felt her heart leap inside her chest when Sam told her that he was happy that Jon had found her, even if Jon had to leave the Church to be with her.  Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that Jon’s two closest friends would be so supportive and would be willing to let her into their world so easily.  Sansa actually caught herself wondering if there wasn’t a touch of divine intervention in her midst.

Saying a silent prayer to the Mother of God to help her be brave, Sansa finally emerged from her car, slamming the driver side door shut and turning to walk into the Church.  Lifting her chin, she put on a huge, fake smile as she began to pass by various members of the parish.  She nodded politely, bidding each person good morning as she continued onward, cringing inwardly each and every time she was either ignored completely or openly shunned.  Standing in the narthex, grabbing a bulletin from one of the ushers without making eye contact, Sansa looked about the church, trying to decide where she would sit this morning for Mass.

Normally, Sansa sat with Harry toward the front of the church, typically on the left side by the Stations of the Cross.  Of course, she spotted him instantly.  He had already seated himself with several of his buddies from both the parish council and the Knights of Columbus.  Scoffing to herself as she glared at the back of his blond head, Sansa knew that Harry had surrounded himself with his fan club.  God help him today if he decided to start anything with her.  She would not cower any more.

As sundry folks brushed past her on their way to the pews, Sansa took a deep, steadying breath while assessing the seating once again.  Finally, Sansa spotted Jeyne Poole sitting with a couple of women from the Young Adults group a few rows from the front in the middle of the church.  Barely cracking a smile, Sansa opted to try that location.  She and Jeyne had always been good friends at both the school and at Church.  That seemed like a safe location, so Sansa walked directly to where Jeyne was seated.

“Hi, Jeyne,” Sansa smiled while standing in the aisle, “May I sit here with you?”

“Sure!” Jeyne chirped, her voice as friendly as always.  The three women sitting with Jeyne, however, looked like Satan himself had appeared on the scene.  Nervously, the women shifted uncomfortably in their seats, shooting Jeyne a round of widened eyes and pursed lips.  Sansa knew instantly that they were tacitly telling Jeyne to shut up and to refuse.  Her heartrate escalating as she stood alone in the aisle, Sansa could feel the hateful glares of the congregrants in the surrounding pews staring at the back of her ginger head.

“You know what, maybe I’ll find somewhere else to sit,” Sansa said through gritted teeth, turning abruptly and heading straight for the almost empty front row of the church.

“Sansa!” Jeyne called out, “Wait!”

Without looking back, Sansa marched directly to the front row and plopped right down in the center.  If she was going to be forced into the role of Mary Magdalene today, then she might as well let everyone get a good view.  To her left, Mrs. Mordane and several older widows from the Altar Flower Guild gasped in shock.  Sansa turned to look at them, narrowing her eyes, challenging them to say anything nasty.  “Good morning, ladies!” Sansa beamed, the fakeness dripping from her words.

“You have some nerve showing your face here today, young lady,” Mrs. Mordane huffed indignantly, casting a knowing glance toward her friends.

Seething now, Sansa could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she glared at her detractors.  Before she could unleash her tongue, however, she was interrupted by Jeyne rushing to sit next to her.

“Don’t, Sansa,” Jeyne whispered, grabbing Sansa’s hand and holding onto it tightly while sitting next to her, “They’re not worth it.  Ignore them.  All of them.”

In that moment, Sansa’s eyes softened, locking with Jeyne’s.  Jeyne smiled at her, willing Sansa to know that she would stand by her today.  Sansa had stood by Jeyne when the brunette music teacher had ended an abusive, long-term relationship back in January.  When the rest of the parish had questioned Jeyne’s decision to walk away from her fiancé, Sansa had never once doubted Jeyne’s reasons.

“Thank you,” Sansa mouthed, swallowing hard.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Mordane and company rising from their seats and relocating to a pew on the left of the Church.  Without saying another word, Jeyne simply nodded her head.  In solidarity, she continued to hold Sansa’s hand, repositioning herself as the priests walked out from the sacristy, full vested and ready to being the Divine Litugy.  And as Sansa’s eyes followed the same pathway as Jeyne’s, Sansa choked back the tears as Jon, her beloved Father Jon, smiled down on her from where he stood at the altar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next...the mounting tension between our fledgling couple and the good people of Hardhome comes to a head during the Sunday morning Mass.
> 
> And I’m curious - did anyone suspect that Father Davos felt unrequited love for Lyanna?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing before the parishioners attending the early morning Mass at Our Lady of the Wall, Father Jon realizes that he can no longer pretend to be what he is not. Without further ado, the young priest decides to go out in a blaze of glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man...I smell one hell of a scene about to be made over in Hardhome...run, vivilove; run!

_“Mum, I don’t want to be in front of all those people,” Jon huffed, folding his skinny arms in front of his chest, stomping his foot defiantly._

_“Now, Jon,” Lyanna began while trying not to smirk at her eight-year old son, “We’ve talked about this.  Making your first communion is an enormous blessing.  All the boys and girls in your Sunday School class will being doing the same thing this morning, so please, don’t worry.  You’ll be just fine.”_

_Grumbling under his breath as his mother adjusted his tie, Jon sighed heavily.  “I wish that I could sit with you today instead of the other kids.”_

_Unable to hide her smile any longer, Lyanna looked into her son’s dark brown eyes as her mouth lifted at the corners.  Studying her son while still kneeling on the floor of their kitchen, she found herself thinking about Rhaegar.  Everyone here in Hardhome always commented on how much Jon looked just like her, a fact that she could not deny.  No one, however, knew just how much Jon behaved like his father at times.  That pout of Jon’s could put Rhaegar’s to shame any day of the week.  So could his temper._

_“Mum?” Jon asked, growing curious as to why his mother was staring blankly at him._

_“Hmm?” Lyanna startled from her thoughts, immediately fidgeting with Jon’s tie once again._

_“Do I really have to wear this thing?” he complained, wiggling and twisting his neck while she pulled the knot tight._

_Finally finished with her task, Lyanna replied firmly yet with a hint of a grin, “Yes, you do.  You need to look your best today.”  Now that his tie was locked and loaded, she adjusted the collar of his dress shirt._

_“Can’t I just get in line and take communion with you?” Jon whined, making his final attempt to weasel out of the whole affair, “Do I really have to go up there by myself?”_

_“Yes, Jon, you do,” Lyanna answered without making eye contact with her son, still trying to fight off the chuckle that dared to escape.  Releasing Jon, she rose to her feet, beaming at her son.  “You look so handsome!”_

_Jon snorted in disgust as he marched into the living room.  His posture looked like a man being led to the gallows.  Flinging himself face-down on the couch, he protested loudly, “I am not handsome!”_

_“Go on, now,” Lyanna barely scolded Jon as she joined him in the living room, “We’re going to be late for Mass if you don’t hurry up and go put on your dress shoes.”_

_“I don’t know where they are,” Jon mumbled as he rolled off the couch._

_“Look in your closet,” Lyanna smiled at her boy, her brown eyes following her son as he silently stomped toward his bedroom._

_As Jon disappeared down the hallway, Lyanna sighed heavily as she turned to face the small prayer corner on the bookshelf that she had created years ago when she first moved into the apartment right before Jon was born.  Gently running her fingers along the crucifix perched beside the icons, her thoughts drifted to Rhaegar once again._

_It had been years since she had any contact with Jon’s father.  Sometimes she wondered if Rhaegar ever thought about her or their son.  Even when they were together, Lyanna had always known that Rhaegar would never truly be hers.   She had done nothing but lie to herself when she dreamed of him choosing her over his vocation.  Thankfully, through much prayer and self-reflection, the bitterness that Lyanna once harbored for her former lover had long since abated, leaving behind only forgiveness and a sense of longing for a life that her son would never have._

_Her son…Jon…her beautiful boy…_

_While listening to Jon ransack his perpetually messy room in search of his shoes, Lyanna closed her eyes as she softly prayed aloud for her son as he accepted his First Communion:_

_“Heavenly Father, I ask that you be with my son.  Please help Jon to be strong and courageous_ _and not be scared or nervous as he stands before the entire parish today.  Help him know what to say and what to do.  Let him know in his heart that even though I cannot stand by his side, I will be watching over him the entire time.”_

_“Mum?” Jon asked curiously from the hallway, staring up into his mother’s loving gaze as she turned to face him.  “I found them,” he smiled, holding up his black dress shoes in his hands._

_“Perfect!  Let’s go, then,” she replied hastily, not realizing that Jon had in fact overheard her entire prayer.  Moving to go grab her purse and car keys off the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, Lyanna was stopped in her tracks when Jon reached out to grab her hand._

_“I’m glad you’ll be there today, Mum,” Jon blurted out, nervously looking at his sock-covered feet._

_“I’ll always be with you,” Lyanna grinned, reaching down to smooth down one of his wayward curls, “Always.”_

_“Promise?” Jon wondered aloud._

_“Promise,” she answered, bending down to place a gentle kiss on top of his head._

_(End flashback)_

 

 

Time seemed to stand still for Jon as Sam lifted his hands, reciting the opening prayers of the Mass.  Standing by Sam’s side, however, Jon couldn’t focus on anything at present other than the beautiful woman with the pair of eyes the color of the late summer sky who was smiling at him from her seat on the front row.  The love and admiration reflected back at him made his throat dry on the spot.  God how he wanted to leap from the altar, scoop Sansa into his arms, and run like a bat out of hell to escape the sneers that were being cast his direction.  Not because Jon was afraid or ashamed, but because he wanted so desperately to spare Sansa any more heartache over the rumored tittering among the good people of Hardhome.

Jon couldn’t help but smile in return upon feeling the warmth radiating from Sansa’s loving gaze.  He admired her for her resolve to be here this morning at Our Lady of the Wall.  A lesser woman would have never dreamed of making an appearance, let alone chose to sit where she so boldly sat.

Her feelings for Jon reflected back at her in every nuance of his slightly shy smile, Sansa nodded her head ever so slightly, clutching Jeyne’s hand just a little tighter.  Now that the Mass had commenced, Sansa began to breathe a little easier and slightly steadier now.  A lifelong Catholic, she found comfort in the familiarity of the words and prayers she had repeated since childhood.  As the Entrance Chant came to its completion, she sighed heavily, feeling a tinge of regret.  Not because she was sorry for making her decision to pursue a relationship with a priest, but because she would miss this.  Sansa would miss the Church.  Yet she would walk away from it a thousand times if it meant Jon could be hers and hers alone.

The Entrance Chant now concluded, the two young priests as well as the people present this morning stood, signing themselves with the Sign of the Cross while Father Sam spoke.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he declared.

All replied in unison, “Amen.”

Extending his hands as a greeting to his flock, Father Sam said, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”

“And with your spirit,” Sansa responded, as did the rest of the faithful present.

As Father Sam continued onward, transitioning into the Penitential Act, the oversized wooden doors separating the narthex from the nave burst open, the creaking sound resonating profusely throughout the Church.

Just like the rest of the curious church goers turning to see who had interrupted the liturgy, Sansa gaped in amazement.  In walked Father Davos and Edd, briskly making their way down the aisle, Edd’s eager eyes quickly scanning the crowd as he led the charge.  As the older priest followed behind his former student, Father Davos quietly whispered “good morning” to the various parishioners, all the while waving and nodding politely as if the older priest was always late to Church.

Spotting the object of his search and recon mission, Edd paused his march, leaning in close to Father Davos who had finally caught up with him.  “I see her,” Edd whispered into the priest’s ear, “Up front.”  With that observation, Edd and Father Davos walked directly to the front row that remained completely abandoned save for Sansa and Jeyne.

Smiling widely at Sansa, Father Davos asked, “Is this seat taken, Miss Stark?”  He extended his hand, motioning to the empty spot on the pew next to her.

Even with the sounds of Father Sam’s voice leading the rites of the Mass, Sansa could still hear the muffled gasps and indignant huffs ensuing behind her.  She knew what they were thinking right now; how could such a well-respected man of the cloth as Father Davos choose to sit by the redheaded harlot?

“No, Father, it isn’t,” Sansa grinned as she patted the empty seat next to her.  Edd, who was still standing in the aisle and still scanning the throng of parishioners, finally caught sight of Harry sitting over in his seat with his gang of minions.  Pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then pointing them at Harry, Edd’s lips quirked into a defiant smirk, silently letting Harry know that he would be watching him.  Looking toward the altar once again, Edd grinned widely at his two priestly friends before he turned to be seated.  Quickly assessing his options, Edd decided to park himself next to the beautiful brunette whom he did not know.

“Mind if I join you?” Edd requested boldly, motioning to the unoccupied seat next to Jeyne.

“Not at all,” Jeyne smiled widely in return, looking down at the spot next to her then back up at him.

“What are you doing here?” Sansa whispered to Father Davos as the Mass continued.

“I decided to come to the early Mass today,” he smiled at her.  “And to make sure that you weren’t alone.”

“But Edd…” Sansa’s barely audible voice full of shock trailed off as she quickly shot him a glance.

“Is here today to make sure Harry Hardyng keeps his hands to himself,” Father Davos replied with a wink.

Now completely disengaged from the Mass, Jon watched in complete shock and awe from his vantage point on the altar the entire moment unfold between his friend, his mentor, and his lover.  Sam’s voice sounded far off in the distance as he finished with the Kyrie Eleison and took his seat on the altar as the first reader of the day came forward.

All but falling into his own seat, Jon realized that Sansa was now enveloped in a living, breathing shroud of safety.  On one side sat Jeyne, who had chosen to stand by Sansa today.  Of his own free-will, Edd had come to church today to protect Jon’s lover like some damned body guard for hire.  And then Father Davos, heaven help him…Jon all but choked up when he watched his mentor and father figure reach over to hold Sansa’s other hand.  The sheer look of joy radiating from Sansa as she smiled at Father Davos just about took Jon’s breath away.

The sounds of the Old Testament readings barely registered in Jon’s bewildered brain.  All surrounding noises sounded distinctly muffled now that the pounding of his own heart dared to deafen him.  Staring hard at Sansa, Jon willed her to look at him.  As if on cue, she did just that.  A slight flush spread across her normally milky white cheeks under Jon’s intense scrutiny.  Whatever doubts Jon may have ever had about making the decision to walk away from the Church disappeared in an instant.

_My Sansa…_

He admired her for her resolve to be present here this morning at Our Lady of the Wall.  He admired her ability to love him so freely and so passionately, disregarding any derision that may come her way.  He admired her fortitude and resolve to stand her ground with Harry yesterday.  Smirking to himself as Sam rose from his seat to proclaim the Gospel, Jon had to grind his nails into the palms of his hands to keep his emotions in check.  God how he loved Sansa; he would be hard-pressed to name all of the things he admired about her in his lifetime.

As Sam read a passage from the Gospel of Luke, Jon took a long, slow breath, finally removing his eyes from Sansa while digesting the Word of God.  The irony of the assigned reading from the lectionary was not lost on Jon.  Jesus had warned his apostles that by following Him, they would endure the scorn and derision of many, including their own loved ones.  Jesus instructed his disciples to have no fear during their persecutions because He would be there with them, guiding their lips, giving them wisdom when speaking to their adversaries.

Casting his eyes toward the heavens, Jon silently wondered what his mother would have done if she were still alive.  Would she have chastised Jon for wanting to break his vows for a woman, or would she have supported his choice and stood by him?  Would Lyanna Snow, a woman who had spent her entire adult life in the service of others, sit in the front row today with Sansa by her side?

As always, thinking about his mother brought a smile to his face.  Jon knew the answer to those questions already.  How Jon wished that his mother could have met Sansa.  She would have loved her.  With a heavy sigh, Jon allowed his eyes to wander once again toward Sansa.  Demurely, she lowered her azure eyes to her lap, looking up at him once again through her long lashes just as Sam was about to finish the passage.

Jon’s mouth quirked into a grin as he gazed lovingly upon her.  _Mum, I know you’re up there watching over me.  Please pray for me.  And for Sansa.  Pray that I may know what to say and what to do today._

Lost inside his own head, Jon didn’t hear Sam whispering to him until Sam cleared his throat loudly.

“Jon,” Sam whispered again, literally shaking Jon by his broad shoulder to get his friend to blink.

“What?” Jon whispered back to Sam.  The entire parish was staring at the two of them now.  The Church was pregnant with silence during the pause in the Mass.  Sam was supposed to be giving his homily right now.  Instead, he was standing beside Jon, leaning down to whisper in Jon’s ear.

“Give the homily,” Sam demanded.

“Are you _crazy_?” Jon rasped, the confusion dripping from his question.

“Probably,” Sam agreed with a grin, “But do it anyway.  You need to do it, Jon.”

Swallowing hard, Jon gazed out across the expectant eyes of the people.  Known throughout the dioceses for his insightful, spiritually edifying sermons, Jon wasn’t sure at the moment if he could even recite a Hail Mary without fumbling for the words.

“Sam, I don’t think -”

“That’s right, Jon,” Sam added firmly, the terseness in his voice letting Jon know that he was dead-serious, “Don’t think; just speak.  If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for Sansa.”

Inhaling sharply at Sam’s words, Jon heard his mother’s voice echoing in his head:

_I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, Jon Snow, but you were never one of them._

_You are the best thing that has ever happened to me._

_I’ll always be with you…promise._

Feeling a sense of clarity that he hadn’t felt since last Thursday after visiting his mother’s grave, Jon decided that he was through with living a lie.  People make mistakes.  He made a terrible mistake when he had entered the priesthood.  Sansa was the best thing that had ever happened to him.  And he would always choose to be with her…and that was a promise he would keep even unto death do them part.

Rising abruptly from his seat on the altar, nodding to Sam as he slowly turned to walk toward the podium, Jon looked around at the church full of people, taking note of the array of reactions spreading like wildfire among the faces of his flock.  Some folks looked pleased that he would speak today while many others appeared quite incensed that their priest, rumored to be involved in an illicit relationship with Sansa Stark, dared to even wear his vestments today, let alone lecture them about matters of piety.  Standing all alone in front of the parish, for the briefest of moments, Jon felt a sense of panic.  What if the right words wouldn’t come to him?  God as his witness, Jon didn’t know what to say.

_I’ll always be with you…_

An eerie sense of calm overtook Jon as his mother’s words from long ago reverberated in his ears.  He hadn’t thought about the day of his first communion in forever.  Lifting his eyes toward the enormous statue of Mary over by the candle stands, Jon felt a slight shiver go up his spine.  Could it be that his deceased mother was trying to speak to him?  To comfort him in his hour of need?

 _I know you’re are here, mum,_ Jon spoke to Lyanna in his thoughts while staring at the statue, _I know that you’re with me.  Thank you._

“Good morning,” Jon said, turning his attention to the congregation, licking his dry lips as he felt a surge of renewed fortitude bursting forth, “The peace of the Lord be with you.”

“And also with you,” many voices answered in chorus.

“Today, brothers and sisters,” Jon continued while scanning the curious faces of the people listening to him, “We listened to the words of our Lord and Savior as he warned his disciples what trials they would endure should they try to follow their faith: wrath; scorn; persecution; death.

“For those of us who have been raised in the Church,” Jon continued as he glanced from face to face, “We have heard this passage read from the book of St. Luke countless times.  We have studied it in our Sunday School classes, have discussed it with our families, and have listened to priests like me lecture us on what being true to the Word of God really means.  Every man, woman, and child over the age of eight present here this morning knows that following Christ means dying to the things of this world so that we may find eternal salvation.”

_I’ll always be with you…_

Pausing briefly, Jon looked down at his hands.  He was gripping the sides of the podium so hard that his knuckles were turning white as snow.  Sniffing in amusement at the irony, Jon released the podium, walking to the very edge of the ambo, standing directly in front of the puzzled onlookers immobilized in their seats while hanging onto his every word.

“As you sit here among your family and friends, I ask that you indulge me for a moment,” Jon began, “I want each and every one of you to imagine that you are one of those disciples.  You have been offered something which you never thought possible while everything you once believed to be true has been thrown asunder.  Now that your entire framework of reality has been destroyed, resurrected in the knowledge that there is something _more_ to be had, you are about to embark upon a journey that could bring you eternal happiness.”

Pausing a few long seconds as he scanned the eager faces of the parish, Jon could almost feel the tension rising among the people.  “However,” he continued, “Just as you stand at the precipice of achieving the very thing you desire most, you must now face the ultimate test of your faith.  You must leave your old life behind.  You must surrender to the knowledge that you will face untold persecutions for your faith.  You must make peace with the knowledge that you will become the target of hate, slander, and misunderstanding.”

Like a magnet pulling him in that direction, Jon felt his gaze drift toward Harry.  Locking eyes with the man he so despised, Jon unconsciously gritted his teeth as Harry narrowed his eyes at him.  But just as the rage was about to seep into Jon’s soul yet again, he suddenly felt an oddly timed sense of peace.  He didn’t feel like jumping into the congregation, climbing over the pews, and beating Harry for all he had done to Sansa.  Instead, Jon felt a wave of euphoria wash over as he resolved to do the unthinkable right here, right now in Church during the holiest of holy Sacraments.

Jon was going to tell the truth.  He was going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

“What would you do?” Jon asked the crowd though still looking directly at Harry.  Jon paused dramatically, shrugging his shoulders and cocking his head to the side in question.  Suddenly, people were looking all around them.  “I asked you, what would you do?”  Harry, whose blue eyes widened comically as he looked around at first his friends and then the congregants now looking his direction, quickly turned to glare hatefully at Jon.

The young priest simply smirked in return before continuing, “What would _you_ do if it were your resolve being tested?  Would _you_ be able to stand bravely before all those who hate you?  Would _you_ be able to stoically endure their mockery?  Would _you_ be able to pay the ultimate price for following your heart?”

As Jon paused long enough to catch his breath and to figure out what to say next, he realized that a haunting hush had swept over the entire parish.  No one moved.  No one spoke.  Not even the littlest of babes cried in their mothers’ arms.  Like all the rest of the parish, Sam and Edd remained as still as stones, Sam biting his bottom lip nervously while Edd smirked smugly, both men obviously waiting with baited breath for Jon to finish his train of thought.

And when Jon, who was desperately seeking some sort of sign that he was doing the right thing, looked toward Father Davos, his life-long father figure, mentor, and friend, Jon found his portent.  The older priest’s eyes were soft and gentle as he smiled sadly at Jon.  Smiling slightly in return, Jon knew that Father Davos was taking a huge risk to his own reputation by coming to the church today and sitting with Sansa.

_I’ll always be with you…_

This was it.  The time had come.  Jon would no longer pretend to be what he was not.

“A truly wise man told me not so long ago,” Jon smiled widely, giving Father Davos a humble nod of recognition, “That we only have one chance at life here on earth, but what we do here in this life, we _will_ answer for in the next.”  With that declaration, finally Jon looked at Sansa.  She was smiling profusely at him, still holding both Jeyne and Father Davos’s hand.  The flush of either embarrassment or acknowledgement that stained her pretty porcelain skin was the final sign to Jon.  She knew.  She knew that something momentous was about to happen at Jon’s hands. 

How right she was.

Still locked in an affectionate gaze with his clandestine lover, Jon hurriedly began to remove the outer layers of his vestments.  Sam immediately leapt to his feet, rushing to stand by Jon, jutting his hands out to grab the richly embroidered white and gold fabrics his best friend was removing from his body.  Jon could only smile at Sam as his long-time friend began to tear up while Jon divested himself piece by piece.

The gasps of shock and awe rocked the parish as Jon removed his chasuble and his stole.

There was no turning back now, just like Father Davos had warned.

“I have been given a chance at something which I thought was never possible,” Jon declared, his voice wavering slightly as he unknotted the cincture, “Everything that I once believed has been thrown asunder.  The entire framework of my faith has been destroyed, resurrected in the knowledge that there _is_ something more in this life for me, and like the saints who followed Christ, I am about to embark upon a journey I never dreamed possible.”

As the astounded faces of the parish looked onward, Jon finally removed his alb, the final outer layer of his vestments.  “As I stand before you today, I am prepared to face the ultimate test of my faith.  I am leaving my old life behind, and I surrender myself to the knowledge that I will face untold persecutions for it.”

Now only sporting his black priestly garb, Jon turned to look at Sam.  With his arms stuffed full of Jon’s vestments, Sam choked back his emotions.

“Take it off, Jon,” Sam advised, motioning to Jon’s neck with his head, “Release yourself.”

Jon didn’t wait to be told again.

Reaching for his collar, Jon pulled it off slowly, removing the last visible sign left on his body which signified his vocation to the outside world.  When Jon took off his white collar, however, complete chaos erupted in the Church.  Horrified gasps and cries of disbelief filled the once-silent air.

Fully intent to fan the flames of fury, Harry wasted no time in trying to burn Jon at the stake.

“You’re a priest!” Harry shouted as he bounded to his feet, his outburst sending yet another shockwave of shrieks and gasps across the entire congregation.  Unable to control his rage any longer, Harry desperately tried to shove his way out of the pew to get to the aisle, still screaming at the top of his lungs, “You’re supposed to be a man of God!  And look at you.  You’re sleeping with my girlfriend, you bastard!  You’re gonna burn in hell for this, do you hear me?  I hope you burn in _hell!_ ” 

Before Harry could manage to exit the pew, his buddies grabbed him and pulled him back to his seat.

Holding his head high even in the face of his downfall, Jon bellowed over the discordant gossip overtaking the people, “And I’m sure that I will see you there!”

“Let me go!” Harry shouted indignantly as he tried to shake off his friends, “Let me at him!”  No luck.  His friends held on for dear life, warning Harry to sit his ass back down before he went to jail.  In his rage, Harry hadn’t noticed that the cop from the fall festival yesterday had jumped to his own feet the very instant Harry publicly blew his lid.  Edd stood at the ready, fully prepared to spring into action if need be.

Turning toward Sansa, Jon’s harsh demeanor instantly softened.  Although she looked just as flummoxed as the rest of the parish at present, she was not angry with him.  Instead, she was smiling at him.  She may not have had a clue that Jon would pull this stunt today, but Sansa supported him, as always.

_I’ll always be with you…_

“I am in love,” Jon announced proudly, his voice soaring above the noise of the crowd of onlookers as he smiled at Sansa, “I am in love with Sansa Stark, the most beautiful, intelligent, passionate young woman on the face of this earth, and God forgive me, but I renounce my vows to be with her!”  Jogging quickly down the steps of the ambo, Jon raced to stand before Sansa.  He wordlessly offered her his hand, willing her to understand his intention, and with a shaking one of her own, she took it.  Before she could speak, Jon took off into a run, pulling her along with him as he bolted down the aisle of the Church toward the heavy wooden doors.

“Jon!” she laughed loudly as she tried to keep up with him as he blew past the ushers, shoving the doors wide open with his free hand and running outside, “Wait!  I can’t keep up!”

“Where is your car?” Jon grinned at her over his shoulder, racing ahead toward the parking lot.

“There!” she laughed again as Jon sprinted toward the direction her free hand was pointing, “Over by the shrine!”

Together the two lovers ran the entire distance until they stood beside Sansa’s car.  Out of breath, they faced each other.

“What in the world, Jon?” Sansa smiled at him as he jerked open her driver’s side door.

“Forgive me, Sansa,” he answered gruffly, wrapping his hands around her small waist and pulling her to him, “I was overcome with the urge to tell the world how much I adore you.”  Without waiting for her response, Jon angled his head, capturing her pliant lips with his own.  Sansa’s hands went straight for Jon’s curls, grabbing two fistfuls, holding on for dear life, kissing Jon as fiercely and possessively as he was kissing her.  Their mouths meshed perfectly, she could feel the beginnings of his arousal playfully nudging her stomach.

Gently pulling back, Jon leaned his head against Sansa’s forehead, grinning like the love-struck fool that he was.

“I noticed that,” Sansa teased, her fingertips lightly scratching at his soft, thick beard.  “Let’s go home.”

“Home…” Jon gulped, swallowing hard as he stared into the depths of Sansa’s loving gaze, “Yeah, let’s go home, sweet girl.”

Placing a tender kiss on her forehead, Jon grinned as Sansa seated herself inside her vehicle and waited for him to join her inside the car.  As he shut her door, he felt a gentle breeze tickling his bearded cheek, almost as light as the touch of a woman’s hand.

_I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, Jon Snow, but you were never one of them._

_You are the best thing that has ever happened to me._

_I’ll always be with you…promise._

His curious eyes unconsciously raising toward the heavens, Jon smiled as he studied the early morning autumn sky.  It was utterly gorgeous today, the countless white fluffy clouds scurrying about in their bright blue backdrop.  In that moment, Jon felt something click inside his heart.  The all-engulfing love that Jon felt for Sansa began to gnaw away at the hate and the hurt that he harbored for his birth father.

Had Rhaegar Targaryen been a stronger man, perhaps he would have left the Church to be with Lyanna.  But had Rhaegar left the Church, then the entire framework of Jon’s existence would have been different.  Jon would not have been raised in Hardhome by his single mother.  He more than likely would not have been raised in the Church nor pursued his vocation as a priest.

Instantly, the irony overwhelmed Jon; if it were not for his father’s weakness, Jon would never have met Sansa.

Closing his dark brown eyes as the heat from the sun warmed his face, Jon prayed for his father, a prideful man of the cloth who realized too late what he had forsaken for the Church; his mother, a pious woman who unceasingly devoted herself to her son; and for his parents, two star-crossed lovers whose surreptitious passion and subsequent parting not only gave Jon his life, but also gave him his future wife as well.

“O God,” Jon spoke in a hushed whisper, his voice breaking as he continued, “Have compassion in Thy mercy on the souls of my father and mother; forgive them their sins, and grant that I may one day see them together in the joy of eternal brightness.  Through Christ our Lord.  Amen.”  As Jon opened his eyes, he chanced one last glimpse at the outside of Our Lady of the Wall.

How quickly a man’s life can change in a week.

Sniffing in amusement at his thought, Jon spun on his heels, rounding the front of Sansa’s car and yanking open the passenger-side door.  When he hopped inside, he leaned across the middle console to quickly kiss her on the cheek.

“Let’s go home,” Jon grinned lovingly at her.

“Home it is,” Sansa smiled at him in return as she kicked the car into drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that’s what I call a homily!


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of their friend's nuptials, Jon and Sansa prepare to meet someone extremely important in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a peek at what Jon and Sansa's life is like now, shall we?

_“Sansa, you’re not thinking rationally!” Cateyln gasped, “You’ll ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve!”_

_“But I am thinking!” Sansa huffed at her exasperated mother.  “Don’t you see?  I love Jon.  I love him, and I will not give him up.  Not now; not ever!”  Rising from her spot on the loveseat, Sansa’s fists clenched tightly.  She had known that her parents wouldn’t be happy about her relationship, but actually experiencing their vexation was something else entirely._

_“That’s enough, both of you!” Ned suddenly snapped as he sat next to his harried wife on the sofa, “Would you two please stop arguing so we can talk this through?” the older man added with a heavy sigh.  Chastised for her temper, Catelyn gulped hard, lowering her blue eyes to her lap.  Sansa, who felt Jon’s hand entwine with hers from where he had been sitting next to her on the loveseat, looked down into his worried countenance.  Exhausted, Sansa slumped onto the cushion beside him._

_An awkward hush descended upon the living room of Sansa’s parental abode while Jon surveyed the situation at hand.  The Starks were good people.  They were devout Catholics who had watched their children fall from the Faith one-by-one over the last few years, and although Sansa had appeared to be the last great hope for Ned and Catelyn, their once dutiful daughter had moments ago announced her virtually overnight relationship with a man of the cloth.  Jon would have been a fool to believe that Ned and Catelyn would have swallowed that jagged little pill so easily._

_“May I speak?” Jon asked hesitantly, still clutching Sansa’s hand in his._

_“By all means,” Ned puffed as he exhaled forcefully, scrubbing at his blond beard interspersed with flecks of gray._

_“I love your daughter, Mr. Stark,” Jon began softly as he smiled, “I love her with all my heart and soul.  There is nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do to ensure her happiness, God as my witness.”_

_“God, you say…” Ned sniffed in either amusement or distaste, Jon wasn’t quite sure.  “It always amazes me how people invoke God’s name when it suits them, yet ignore Him when it serves their purposes.”_

_“Daddy!” Sansa sassed in shock, “Jon isn’t like that!  Please, give him a chance to - ”_

_“There’s nothing to explain, Sansa,” Ned interrupted his daughter, putting his arm around his now sniffling wife, “You are a grown woman.  You are free to make decisions for yourself now.  Your mother and I…we can’t stop you from…from…having a relationship with a priest.”_

_“He’s not a priest anymore,” Sansa grumbled as she tightened her grip on Jon’s hand, “He’s already told the bishop of his intent to leave.”_

_Ned scoffed at Sansa’s words.  “You know as well as I do, young lady, that Jon will always be a priest in the eyes of the Church, even if he somehow manages to receive laicization.”_

_“Mr. Stark,” Jon interjected, desperate to try to explain himself to Sansa’s parents as well as to circumvent further anger this afternoon, “I have no concept of what it must be like for you as a father to sit there and hear that your daughter is leaving the Church to be with a man who was once a priest.”_

_“You’ve got that right,” Ned snorted as he held Cat to his chest._

_Looking deeply into Sansa’s saddened blue eyes, Jon reached out to brush her ginger locks out of her face.  She was his everything.  Nothing mattered but her._

_“What I can tell you is this,” Jon continued, smiling reassuringly at Sansa as she barely smiled in return, “I am the living embodiment of what happens when two people who love each other are not allowed to be together.”  Turning to look at Ned, Jon pled with him.  “Please, Mr. Stark.  Please at least try to understand.”_

_“Listen, Father Jon,” Ned began._

_“Just ‘Jon,’ sir,” Jon corrected after clearing his throat._

_With a heavy sigh, Ned continued, “Look, it’s not that we don’t like you.  Really, we do.  You’re a wonderful young man.  You’re incredibly bright, you’re a gifted leader, and…and frankly, you’re everything that we would’ve wanted for our daughter, save your choice of vocation.”_

_“But you still don’t approve,” Jon added, hanging his head as the words rung in the air._

_Catelyn, who had finally managed to pull herself together, spoke from her spot nestled against her husband’s chest.  “No more of this, please.”  She loosened herself from Ned’s embrace, hurriedly scurrying to her feet.  “Darling,” Catelyn began, kneeling in front of her daughter, “Your father and I…we may not understand your decision, but we will not lose you over this.”_

_“Jon is a good man, Mother,” Sansa choked up as Catelyn placed her own hand on top of Sansa and Jon’s joined hands._

_“You say you love my daughter, yes?” Cat questioned Jon firmly, looking him squarely in the eyes._

_“I do,” Jon nodded vigorously._

_“Then do the right thing.” Cat admonished him.  “Marry my girl.”_

_(End flashback)_

While staring unfocused out the small picture window of his office, watching the landscapers painstakingly plant the colorful rows of tulips along the border of the entrance sign to the church, Jon’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a light rapping on his wooden office door.  Glancing at his watch, he smiled widely as he swiveled around in his blue cloth office chair, facing the door in anticipation of his early morning visitor.

“Come in,” Jon called out, rising to his feet as the door cracked open slowly.

“Good morning,” Sansa grinned as she entered Jon’s office, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

“Good morning to you,” Jon replied, widening his arms to embrace his wife.

“Sorry I had to make the appointment so early in the morning,” she sighed heavily, planting a gentle kiss on his bearded cheek before stepping back to look him in the eye.

“No apologies needed, love,” he grinned at her in return, enjoying the way her hand instinctively rested on her slightly swollen belly these days.

“Dr. Tarth said that the ultrasound shouldn’t take too long,” Sansa continued, adjusting her purse strap while Jon collected his truck keys from his desk drawer.

“Really, Sansa,” Jon chuckled at his perpetually nervous wife, “Sam can handle things here until I return.  And besides, the rehearsal dinner is hours away from now.  I think he will understand if I’m gone a few hours to meet my first-born daughter.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile in return.  “Or son.”

Jon laughed out loud at Sansa’s insistence that he was wrong regarding the sex of their unborn child.  “We shall see, won’t we?”

“Absolutely,” she giggled when he stepped from behind his desk, quickly taking her by the hand and pulling her to him, enveloping her into the warmth of his embrace as he stared lovingly at her.  Always radiant beyond words, Sansa was truly mesmerizing now that the glow of pregnancy was upon her.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Sansa murmured, her bright blue eyes dancing across her handsome husband’s countenance as she spoke, “Jeyne texted me while you were taking a shower.  She’s going to stay at my parents’ house instead of ours.”

“Why?” Jon inquired, confused momentarily why the sudden change of plans was unfolding.  “I thought that we had all of the sleeping arrangements worked out months ago?”

“Mother and Daddy offered to take Jeyne and Edd into their home for the weekend since Father Davos was already staying with us,” Sansa continued, “They have so much more room than us, plus they already have it baby-proofed for when Robb and Talisa go over there.”

“That is true,” Jon nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “Though I pity your poor parents.”

“And why is that?” Sansa giggled in return.

“That kid is a Tollett, and they are nothing but trouble,” Jon joked, enjoying the way that Sansa’s whole face lit up with merriment at his jest.

“Well, since the baby can’t even walk yet,” Sansa protested playfully, “I’m sure they will all be just fine.  And since he’s half Poole, I’m certain that Jeyne’s DNA will help balance things out.”

Thinking about how much his long-time buddy adored both his live-in girlfriend and their young son, Jon’s moment of reverie was interrupted when Sansa wondered aloud.  “Do you think Edd will actually propose to Jeyne tonight?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny it,” Jon hushed his voice, narrowing his mischievous brown eyes like he had knowledge of the world’s most guarded secret, “But I have a very knowledgeable source who thinks that it just might happen.”

“Hey, Jon,” a voice called out from the hallway, “You still here?”

“Speak of the devil…” Jon muttered, bursting into a true belly laugh when Sansa smacked him on the shoulder for likening Sam to Satan.

“Yeah, Sam!” Jon called out in return, stealing a hurried kiss from Sansa before finally releasing her.  “We’re just about to head out to the doctor’s office.”

“Right, of course,” Sam smiled sheepishly as he entered Jon’s office, the flush of red staining his bearded cheeks while staring at his feet.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Jon teased his often-shy best friend, “It’s not like you haven’t figured out how all of that works by now.”

“Jon!” Sam sassed his buddy, shooting Jon a dirty look before bursting into a fit of laughter himself.

“Say, Sam,” Sansa wondered as she and Jon began to walk toward the office door, “Gilly and I are going to meet with the florist this afternoon before the rehearsal dinner.  Last chance to have an opinion on the boutonnieres.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d best leave decisions like that to Gilly,” Sam barked in amusement.

“Hey, Sansa,” Jon asked his wife as she stepped into the hallway.  “Give me just a minute?”

“Sure,” Sansa grinned, “I’ll meet you at the car.  I need to check my emails anyway.  I may have another Latin student enrolling this week.”

“That’s fantastic!” Sam congratulated.

“You know, this whole online Latin course thing that the two of you cooked up has really turned out wonderfully,” Sansa nodded, shooting Jon a knowing wink.  “It will be so nice to work from home after he gets here.”

“ _She_ gets here, you mean,” Jon retorted, his lips pursed together in a pretend grimace.

“See you tonight, Sam!” Sansa called out, ignoring Jon’s taunt with a wave of dismissal over her shoulder, walking down the hallway toward the main entrance of the nondenominational church where her husband and his best friend were employed.

Turning to face Sam, Jon sighed deeply, placing his hands on his jeans-covered hips.  “Can you believe, it was just a little over a year ago that you and I were both priests?”

Exhaling hard, Sam shook his head.  “You have _no_ idea.  Sometimes, I think everything that has happened since you left Hardhome has been a dream.”

“I agree,” Jon nodded vigorously.  “I never imagined that one day, I’d be married to the love of my life with a child on the way.  Or that I’d wind up becoming the head pastor here and then bringing you on board a few months later.”

“‘Where God guides, He provides,’” Sam goaded his friend, using a quote from Isaiah.

“Exactly,” Jon laughed softly.  Cocking his head to the side, Jon’s mouth quirked at the corners while he studied Sam closely.

“What?” Sam asked cautiously, narrowing his curious brown eyes at Jon.

“Gilly is a lucky woman,” Jon stated bluntly, reaching out to clasp his hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “I’m so incredibly happy for you two, Sam.”

“Thanks, Jon,” Sam smiled at his long-time friend.  “I still can’t believe she’s going to be mine tomorrow.”

“She’s always been yours,” Jon added with complete seriousness.  “You just needed to wake up and accept that.”

Sam fired back with a tiny snort, “I could say the same thing about you and Sansa.”

“Touché,” Jon laughed as he released Sam while walking to the door.  “Thanks for covering for me this morning.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam smiled as he followed Jon out of the office and into the hallway.  “And don’t forget; when you get back, we still need to go over the upcoming Youth Ministry’s mission trip to Flea Bottom as well as the plans for the annual yard sale.  We have to iron out all the details today since I’ll be gone for a week.”

“It serves me right to have to juggle the whole place while you’re on your honeymoon,” Jon chuckled while walking with Sam.  Waving goodbye as they laughed heartily together, Jon parted ways with his long-time best friend when they reached Sam’s office.

As Jon ambled down the hallway toward the exit, the intense joy inside his heart reverberated off the walls of his ribcage.  Married in a hurriedly planned yet beautifully executed civil ceremony mere weeks after leaving Our Lady of the Wall, Jon had thoroughly enjoyed marital bliss with Sansa, both while in the process of abdicating his vocation and while shuffling his meager possessions from the rectory into her small apartment in Hardhome.  Only two months later, Sansa’s oldest brother, Robb, told Jon about the head pastor position at Robb and Talisa’s church here in Winterfell, which to Jon’s amazement, was his within moments after his second interview.

Thankfully, Ned and Catelyn Stark had accepted Jon’s quickie marriage to Sansa (even if it was outside the Church) far more quickly than he had ever dared to hope.  After Jon accepted his new position, Sansa’s parents happily offered the newlyweds to move into their garage apartment until the young couple could find a place of their own.  Although Jon missed Hardhome at times, his new life with Sansa overpowered any flicker of nostalgia for the place in which he had been raised.

It also helped tremendously when Sam, inspired by Jon’s public declaration of love, decided to confront Gilly only weeks before her wedding to tell her that he still loved her.  Once Sam escaped the Church, moving to Winterfell with Gilly, who had broken her engagement the very day Sam came to see her, Jon was able to get Sam hired on at the same facility as the Youth Pastor.

God certainly works in swift if not mysterious ways.

Living in Winterfell suited Jon.  Less than an hour away from Hardhome, Jon and Sansa still managed to regularly visit both Father Davos as well as Edd and Jeyne, whose burning-hot, instant chemistry and subsequent unplanned pregnancy had become even more legendary among their circle of family and friends than the manner in which Jon had exited Our Lady of the Wall with Sansa that fateful Sunday morning almost eighteen months ago.

Now sauntering down the sidewalk toward Sansa’s car, Jon was busy reminding himself that he needed to drive over to Hardhome soon to visit his mother when a gentle, warm breeze wafted across his bearded face.  Shielding his dark brown eyes from the bright spring sunshine blazing across the early morning sky here in Winterfell, Jon paused, lifting his gaze toward the heavens.  A huge smile overcame him as he thought not only of his mother but also his father.  Jon knew that they were praying for him and his growing family.  How he wished that they could see their grandchild when she (or he, to be fair) arrived.

As Jon stood thinking about his parents, the sound of Sansa’s horn resounded in the fairly deserted parking lot of God’s Eye Fellowship Church.  Smirking her direction, he jogged directly to her car, jerking open the passenger door.

“Impatient, are we?” Jon laughed as he climbed inside her silver Civic.

“As always,” Sansa laughed in return as she turned the keys in the ignition.  As she began to back up the car, Jon without warning reached across the middle console, grasping Sansa’s forearm, causing her to tap the brakes.

“I love you, Sansa,” he declared, swallowing hard as a surge of emotion dared to overtake him.  “I love you so much.”

Blinking rapidly in her confusion, Sansa simply smiled in return.  “I love you too, Jon.”

Gazing into Sansa’s gorgeous face, Jon whispered aloud a prayer to Lyanna and to Rhaegar on the eve of his best friend’s nuptials.

“‘I have found the one whom my soul loves,’” Jon quoted from a passage of Song of Solomon, a lone tear daring to surface in the corner of his eye.  “Heavenly Father, I ask that in the eternal life, my parents will know the happiness which I have found here on this earth.”

And before Sansa knew what hit her, Jon leaned across to capture her willing lips into a passionate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have followed Jon and Sansa through their journey in this story. I truly have appreciated all of your kind words and support! It is my hope that you will enjoy my other past, present, and future works just as much!


End file.
